The Night of the Mohonk Ghost
by the lurker
Summary: While protecting the President during a peace conference, Artie and Jim find themselves embroiled in local intrigue. Jim discovers something he never knew about Artie.
1. Chapter One

**THE WILD WILD WEST**  
The Night of the Mohonk Ghost  
by the lurker  
  
The evening breeze was very slight, but it was enough to rattle the leaves of the large Elm outside the window. He closed his eyes and listened carefully, but it was eerily quiet. _Quiet._ He had waited a long time to hear the blesséd sounds of nothing. A tiny smile tugged at his chapped lips. The long assignment away from his partner, not to mention any sign of luxury, was finally over. He ran a hand over his chin, noting the rough growth of stubble, and then absently ran it through his unruly black hair. It had been several days since he had been treated to the comforts of a hot meal, soft bed and a bath. He must look like hell - at least he felt like it.  
  
Smiling slightly, Artemus walked away from the open window and over to the door of the private bath. He pulled his pocket watch out and glanced at the hands; it was well past seven. A slight frown creased Artie's brow. Jim should have arrived two hours ago. He looked longingly at the bathtub: it would have to wait. With a deep sigh, Artie grabbed his coat and hat, and trudged back downstairs to the main lobby of the Stokes Inn. He shrugged into his jacket just as he approached the front desk, his hat clutched in his left hand.  
  
Mr. Gordon, the clerk greeted him, is something wrong?  
  
No Mr. O'Connell, not at all, the room's quite lovely--  
  
--But you haven't spent any time in it, no sir.  
  
Artemus grinned at the nervous young man, Really, it's fine--  
  
--It's too cold up there, isn't it? Many of our guests have mentioned that before at this time of year.  
  
Uh, no, no, the fall breeze is quite nice--  
  
--Perhaps you would like to see one of the rooms on the other side. They have wonderful views of the garden.  
  
Artie tried to smile patiently, No, thank you, Mr. O'Connell, but I'm really quite happy with the room I have--  
  
--And then again, you might prefer a room closer to the lake--  
  
--_Mr. O'Connell_, my current room is fine, thank you. Artie pressed on before the man could interrupt him again, What I'd like to know is whether or not you've heard from Mr. West. He was scheduled to arrive two hours ago.  
  
Would that be Mr. James West?  
  
  
  
The clerk checked through some papers and index cards on his desk, then he looked in the register.  
  
It says here we were expecting him two hours ago.  
  
Artie couldn't keep his eyes from rolling back into his head, Yes, thank you... I'd like to know if you've _heard_ from him.  
  
The young clerk's eyes grew wide as he read the rest of the information on the index card he was holding.  
  
It....I....it says here that he's traveling with the President. The President..... The young man looked up at Gordon, horrified. You don't suppose it means _the_ President, do you?  
  
A gruff voice from behind Gordon answered, Well it sure as hell doesn't mean the President of the local Cotillion, boy.  
  
All of the color in O'Connell's face drained,   
  
Gordon smiled at the young man, The President of the United States, yes... Artemus turned toward Grant, Why Mr. President, it's nice to see you, sir. And I might add that you haven't lost your touch for making an entrance.  
  
Grant extended his hand and shook Artie's firmly, a big smile lighting his face, Coming from you, Gordon, I suppose that's a compliment.  
  
Artie grinned, Yes sir.   
  
Grant gave his agent the once over, and frowned, Where did you say you were coming from, Gordon? A local....pig farm?  
  
Artie remembered his disheveled appearance and blushed slightly, Please do forgive me, sir, it was a three day ride to get here from South Carolina, and I literally just arrived before you. I'm afraid I didn't have time to clean up.  
  
The President grinned, Must have been one helluva ride, Gordon.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Delegates and their security details were beginning to fill the lobby, but there was no sign of Jim. Gordon glanced past the President's shoulder, but didn't see his partner anywhere. Realizing what Artemus was doing, Grant growled at him slightly.  
  
You're such a mother hen, Gordon. West is taking care of the delegates.  
  
A frown covered Artie's features, You're telling me that Jim sent you in here _alone_? The dark brown eyes narrowed in suspicion, Why is it I doubt that ever so much, Mr. President?  
  
In answer, Jim came bounding up behind them, relief filling his features when he saw Artie standing with Grant.  
  
West was slightly out of breath, Mr. President, all due respect, but you can't just wander off like that, sir.  
  
Grant turned on West, the gravel in his voice sounding even grittier, And that's where you're wrong, Mr. West. I'm the President _of the United States_, **_not_** some junior cotillion, and I can do anything I damned well please. He turned on Artie, who was just opening his mouth to speak, Don't you start, Gordon. Every time I have to travel somewhere, the two of you are on top of me like flies on horse sh--  
  
--Uh, Mr. President, sir, why don't we get you settled in your room, and have a bottle of bourbon brought up? I don't know about you sir, but I could sure use one....  
  
President Grant remained as still as a statue, only deigning to glare at Gordon. The smile on Artie's face fell away. He thought for sure he could quietly move Grant into the relative protection of his private room with that ploy, but judging by the sour look on the President's face, he was way off the mark: how the mighty had fallen. Jim's chin dropped to his chest, and his eyes looked to the floor. His partner was about to have his pants taken down in the lobby of the Stokes Inn by the President of the United States, and West couldn't bear to watch.   
  
Grant stood there like a stony statue for what felt like an eternity to Artemus. His glare deepened, but the man said nothing. He suddenly found the silence in the lobby to be deafening. Artie longed for a spoon to hit the floor, or a baby to cry, but there was only the sound of listening. Everyone was waiting with great anticipation for the President of the United States to deliver a tongue lashing to his lippy Secret Service agent. Even the air was still: _it_ was probably waiting for Grant to exhale....  
  
Artie rocked on his heels and finally looked into the face of the man he had not only followed into battle, but also a man he greatly admired and respected. A man Artie had sworn to protect; one of only two men for whom he would gladly give up his life. The liquid brown eyes sought out the hardened ones of the General standing before him, and silently pleaded for mercy. And still, Grant did not speak.  
  
Artie swallowed hard, and his voice was barely a whisper, I'm sorry, Mr. President.  
  
Grant continued to stare at Gordon. He had all he could do to keep from smiling. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was making this particular agent squirm under scrutiny - and he didn't have that many opportunities. Nothing could make Gordon more nervous than a lengthy pause of silence. Grant allowed his eyes to soften slightly, and he watched as Artemus eased out the breath he had been holding. A twinkle lit Grant's face as he started past Gordon, shouting to the delegates behind him.  
  
Come on boys, Gordon here is buying....  
  
Jim put an arm around his partner's shoulder as they followed the entourage toward the tavern, You've been had, Artie.  
  
Artemus shook his head, By a master. He hasn't put one over on me like that in a long time.  
  
Jim pat Artie's back, You know the President, Artie, every now and again, he likes to play General....  
  
Artemus laughed, Yeah, but this time it's gonna cost me a pretty penny.... Uh Jim, how are you fixed for cash?  
  
Jim looked at the siege of people ordering drinks, Cash, Artemus? From the looks of it, we might have to sell the train.....


	2. Chapter Two

Gordon practically fell into the chair in the corner of Jim's room, letting out a huge sigh of air as his arms flopped over the sides.  
  
I swear I didn't think we'd ever get out of there.  
  
Jim grinned as he took his gun belt off, He gotcha for all you were worth tonight, Artie.  
  
And then some.  
  
West laughed, Don't sound so bitter, you know you don't mean it.  
  
Ha. What do you know? It's _my_ wallet that's still smoking from overexertion...  
  
Jim took his jacket off and hung it up, Those delegates sure can put it down.  
  
So can the President.  
  
  
  
I'm just saying....  
  
Jim decided a change of subject was in order, Now that you've met the commissioners, what do you think?  
  
Artie considered for a moment, then answered, I think Tappan's a nice fella, but lacks a certain sense of....  
  
Jim offered,   
  
A grin tugged at the corner of Artie's mouth, For lack of a better word, yes. Let's see....General Sherman... now there's a real pompous ass. Jim laughed aloud, and Artie continued, And Sanborn - where's he from?  
  
  
  
That figures. His ideas sound as if they sprouted from the mind of someone who spent too much time panning for gold dust. And Taylor, he seems to have his wits about him, but I keep wondering how long it will take him to stop walking like he just got off a horse!  
  
Maybe he did, Artie. Just get off a horse, I mean.  
  
The hell you say. _I_ just got off a horse, and I don't walk like that.  
  
You're not from Texas.  
  
Well thank all that's good and true for that at least.  
  
Jim's eyes sparkled with laughter, And that pretty much takes care of the Calvary.  
  
Yes James, tomorrow, we meet the Indians. And I've heard that Iron Fist rules with one.  
  
Jim nodded, but didn't answer. Artie felt the subtle change in his partner's mien immediately.  
  
What is it, Jim?  
  
Nothing, Artie.  
  
Gordon stood up and walked over to his best friend, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
I know you. Now, what is it?  
  
Jim frowned, It's probably nothing, Artie...  
  
Yeah, sure. And...?  
  
West sighed. Artie wasn't going to leave him alone until he answered.  
  
And the little hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight on end. Artie stared into his friend's eyes, knowing he would continue only when he was ready. I don't have a good feeling about this one, Artemus. Too many people are against the treaty.  
  
You're worried about the President.  
  
Just worried.  
  
Artie sighed, knowing what was coming, You taking the first watch, or am I?  
  
You look like you could use a little rest....and uh...  
  
A bath. I know. Didn't have time when I first got here.  
  
Jim laughed, Okay, I'll wake you in four hours.  
  
Gordon nodded, See you then.  
  
Jim watched Artie slip out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He put his jacket back on, and walked into the hallway to take up a position outside the President's room. He hoped that Grant didn't decide to go for a midnight stroll; if he discovered that his Secret Service agents were standing watch outside his door all night, there would be hell to pay. But then, Jim would rather face an angry live President then his own guilt over a dead one.  
  
A chill suddenly slipped up his spine, making him shiver. Jim looked at either ends of the hallway: all the windows were closed. He frowned. He could have sworn he felt cold air. Involuntarily, he shivered. West tried to shake the feeling off, but it lingered. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter Three

Artie felt dreadfully tired. He sipped his coffee slowly, and glanced over at his partner. Jim didn't look much better, but the younger agent had a slight edge in anything physical, and they both knew it. At least the long night had been an uneventful one, although Gordon had felt an eerie sense of not being alone. He knew it had to be his overactive imagination, and just the overall milieu of the Inn. Artie shook his head at himself, and pulled out his watch fob, glancing at the dial of the timepiece.  
  
Hey Jim, we've gotta get going.  
  
West wiped his mouth and stood up, Let's go then.  
  
Artie set his napkin down on the table, Right behind you.  
  
They walked quickly up the stairs and straight to the President's room. The infantryman that West had left to stand guard outside the door came to attention.  
  
At ease, private, Jim knocked on the door, Mr. President?  
  
There was no answer. Jim knocked again.  
  
Mr. President? Sir?  
  
The door swung open, and a cranky President stared at West and Gordon, I'm not deaf, West.  
  
Jim smiled, Of course not, Mr. President.  
  
Artemus noticed the slight pallor of the President's face and the circles under his eyes; he looked like he hadn't slept. But Gordon said nothing. Glaring at West, Grant grabbed his hat and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Artie began moving down the hall with the President, and Jim turned to the infantryman.  
  
You're to stay here and make sure no one enters this room except for the maid, and you go into the room with her. Understand?  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Jim and Artie accompanied the President down the stairs and through a corridor leading toward the back of the Inn. Jim nodded to the men stationed in the hallway, and greeted the officer approaching them.  
  
Captain, you've swept the room?  
  
All clear, Mr. West. The commissioners and their aides are already in there.  
  
Jim turned to Grant, Mr. President...after you, sir.  
  
Grant trundled into the room, followed by the two agents. The large conference room was ideal for the purpose of meetings, it had a large oval table with comfortable chairs, a vaulted ceiling and a wall of orangerie style windows with a spectacular view of Mohonk lake. From a security perspective, however, it left a lot to be desired. Jim hated the wall of glass despite the fact that infantryman were stationed outside, making it difficult for anyone to get close enough to pose a threat to the President. West had already gone the rounds with Grant regarding security for the conference, and had to fight to get the man to agree to allowing Jim and Artie to remain in the room. Grant hated calling attention to himself almost as much as he abhorred being away from his family.  
  
The bright morning sunlight poured in through the windows, adding a warm yellow glow to the room. Jim stayed close behind the President as he moved about the room, personally greeting each delegate, while Artie circulated the chamber. Gordon observed Generals Sherman, Harney, Terry and Augur talking of battles once waged with the President, their aides lurking nearby, trying to catch snippets of the conversation. A few commissioners had already taken their places at the large round table, and others were milling about. Henderson, Sanborn, and Tappan were carrying on in a corner, and Nathaniel Taylor was staring out the window. Gordon shivered. There was a distinct temperature drop since last night. Taylor continued to gaze outside, and Artie couldn't guess what could possibly be so fascinating out on the lake at this hour; it was far too chilly for any scantily clad bathing beauties to be anywhere near it.   
  
Gordon was on his way over to the large French style windows to see for himself what had captivated Taylor's attention, when the early morning pleasantries came to a quick halt; the Sioux had arrived. Jim and Artie stared at the entry of the room: Iron Fist filled the wood-framed doorway, larger than life. He was as tall as they had always heard, and looked as fierce as any warrior either agent had ever seen. The brave with him, Stands to the Sun, was no friendlier in his appearance, and to their amazement, was even larger than his chief.   
  
Chief Iron Fist walked confidently to President Grant, holding his hand up in greeting.  
  
President Grant.  
  
Grant raised his hand in a like gesture, Iron Fist, it's good to see you.  
  
And you. Your word is pure among my people. You ask to talk of peace, and we come because it is you who asks.  
  
The President smiled at the proud man, I am glad you're here. We are honored by the presence of so proud a people as the Sioux.   
  
A slight smile lit Iron Fist's face, You understand us well. There is hope for us yet, Grant.  
  
Yes, I believe that there is. Grant turned toward everyone in the room, Let's take our seats and get down to business.  
  
Fairly quickly the commissioners and the Sioux took seats at the large mahogany table, their reflections shining off the polished wood. Jim stood a few feet behind Grant's chair, and Artie took up a position between West and the only door to the room, his back to the huge windows. Introductions were made all around, including the interpreters. There was a stiffness to the air of the room, but at least it wasn't animosity; however, by the time negotiations had gone back and forth all morning, most of the delegates and the two Secret Service agents were ready for a break. Artie watched with concern as Grant wearily pushed himself out of his chair, but he knew at this point, he could say nothing.  
  
West and Gordon followed the President of the United States out of the room, standing on either side of him, slightly behind his shoulders.  
  
I'm starved boys, what's for lunch?  
  
Artie piped up, We can have a beautiful meal brought up to your room, sir, that way you can rest a little after you eat, before the afternoon session starts.  
  
Grant stopped on a dime, turning to glare at Gordon.  
  
Did you learn nothing yesterday afternoon, or has your mind become addled? Artemus flinched slightly, as his gaze dropped to the floor, Grant's voice continued, the timbre growing in pitch as his ire took over. I am _not_ some kind of doddering old man who needs to be squirreled away in a locked room because he is in need of a watchful eye. Not now, not ever! Look at me when I'm yelling at you, Mr. Gordon!  
  
Artie's eyes snapped up to meet Grant's, Yes sir.  
  
I do not need to rest' in between negotiation sessions, and I will not have you patronizing me in this manner.  
  
West couldn't stand it anymore, Mr. President, all Mr. Gordon was trying to--  
  
Grant roared, --Damnit West! I know what he's trying to do. What you're both doing, and I'm telling you, I won't have it. Do you hear me?  
  
Grant had always been a fairly considerate man, not a hotheaded one; the two agents surreptitiously exchanged concerned glances. Grant was oblivious.  
  
Do you understand me, Mr. West?  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Good. Mr. Gordon?  
  
Clearly, Mr. President.  
  
Fine. Now come along, I'm starved.  
  
Exhaling slowly, the two agents followed the President into the dining room of the Inn. Perhaps his mood would improve after lunch.  



	4. Chapter Four

The first day of peace talks had been long and mostly, uneventful. The Sioux were not agreeing to give up all their land and live on a reservation, and the USG wasn't agreeing to let them live the way they had been living, taking what they they thought necessary for their survival, no matter what the cost. The two agents had agreed that Jim would go upstairs and sweep the President's room, while Artie gently tried to find out what had turned the usually good-natured Grant into such a bear. Gordon would rather have had West's job, but then, he knew he was better suited for subtleties.  
  
I understand that this area has some magnificent riding trails, Mr. President. Perhaps after this business has been settled, you might avail yourself of them.  
  
The delicate meaning didn't escape Grant, Is that your way of telling me I need to calm down, Gordon?  
  
Artie stopped on the stairs and looked the President in the eyes, You have been a little on edge, sir.  
  
Grant found sudden interest in the carpet on the steps, I have been a bit rough with you and West. The President's eyes met Artie's and as always they were lit with sincerity, I'm sorry if I've been grouchy, Artemus. I haven't meant it.  
  
Artie smiled, I know that, Mr. President, I wasn't looking for an apology. Jim and I are just a little worried about you, that's all.  
  
Grant turned and began walking up the stairs again, It's nothing I can really put my finger on.  
  
Gordon nodded, There is an odd air to this place...  
  
You've noticed it as well.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Grant stopped again, and leaned close to Gordon, Have you......have you noticed anything strange, Gordon?  
  
Strange in what way, Mr. President?  
  
Grant seemed extremely uncomfortable, and Artemus wished he could ease his mind somehow. But he knew he needed to just wait for the President to continue. After an awkward pause, Grant smiled at Gordon.  
  
It's nothing. Come on, I'm tired.  
  
More than once on the battlefield, Artie had witnessed the General's face drain of its color, as Grant beheld the carnage around him. But through it all, the man never wavered, although Gordon could always sense the burden of it all swirling just under the surface of the face Grant displayed to his men. Gordon perceived that same strain in Grant now. Artie knew that he shouldn't push the man; he not only understood Grant's nature after serving with him in the war, but also recognized that protocol required him to be mindful of his place. And yet, as Grant's friend, he couldn't let it go. Gently, Artie reached out and lightly touched the older man's shoulder, causing him to turn.  
  
Mr. President, sir, forgive me if I'm out of line, but there is something.....maybe I can help.  
  
Grant's mouth tensed into a tight line, and Artie braced himself for the worst. The President was not a demonstrative man, nor a fierce one; yet, he had been nothing short of surly in the past 24 hours. And given this, Artie simply didn't know what to expect. But instead of anger, the gentle eyes of Ulysses S. Grant gazed upon him, and in them, Gordon could see an emotion bubbling up. Swallowing hard, the President placed a soft hand on Artie's left shoulder.  
  
You remind me so much of him.  
  
Artie's face displayed his confusion,   
  
Grant stepped down a stair, and placed his other hand on Gordon's right shoulder, his face taking on a soft quality. For a moment, Grant almost looked haunted. The deep emotion filling the President's eyes caused Artie's heart to pound into his chest. The silence between them stretched on until Gordon couldn't take it anymore. Gently he touched the lapel of the President's coat, his voice full of quiet regard.  
  
Mr. President, are you all right?  
  
Grant's grey-blue eyes flooded with moisture, Yes, Artemus, I'm fine. He looked into the worried large brown ones staring at him, and he smiled slightly, Didn't you ever wonder why you almost never drew the hazardous duties during those days of battle? It was never you unless I had no other choice.  
  
Gordon frowned, clearly bewildered, What are you saying?  
  
You're sensitive, just like he was. And sometimes it's the look you get on your face, or something you say.  
  
Artie tried to keep the alarm out of his voice, but alarmed he was becoming, I don't understand sir.  
  
Come on, I want to show you something.  
  
Gordon tried to swallow down his fear. Grant had been under a terrible strain lately with the preparations for the peace negotiations; maybe the staunch general, who was really a soft touch, was about to crack. With the feeling that a brick had just lodged in his belly, Artie followed the President of the United States up the stairs. 


	5. Chapter Five

Artie held the picture gently in his hands.  
  
I never knew you had another brother, Mr. President.  
  
Grant sipped at his drink, I don't talk about it much.  
  
Gordon studied the dark features of the man in the photo, and between the dark eyes and the dark, wavy hair, he could see where Grant thought there was a slight resemblance. Artie carefully handed the picture back to Grant, who briefly looked at it, then put it away.  
  
Artie's voice was soft, What was his name?  
  
Samuel. Samuel Simpson Grant.  
  
He looks quite young in the picture.  
  
Yes, it was taken when he was 33, about two years before he was killed.  
  
  
  
Battle of Belmont in November of 1861. He died ten days shy of his 36th birthday.  
  
Battle of Belmont....that was your command, wasn't it sir?  
  
Guilt lit Grant's eyes as he drained the last of his bourbon,   
  
As the awful truth began to permeate Gordon's mind, Grant poured himself another shot, downing it quickly.   
  
Artie's voice was as soft as velvet, As I recall, Mr. President, you defeated the Confederates at Belmont, with minimal casualties.  
  
Minimal to the Army, Mr. Gordon. My little brother was everything to me.  
  
For once, Artemus Gordon was speechless. He wanted to be of comfort to the President, but didn't know how; Grant was not a man who would accept kindness easily. After a long silence, Artie asked the obvious.  
  
That was almost ten years ago, Mr. President. What brought this on, here, now?  
  
Grant turned toward Gordon, his face pale, and his eyes dull, I saw him last night. I saw my brother.


	6. Chapter Six

Gordon walked over to Grant who looked like he might collapse. Gently he removed the glass from his hand, and maneuvered him to a nearby chair. He pulled another chair up close, and sat in it. For a long moment, he just stared into the President's eyes, then finally, he spoke.  
  
Tell me exactly what you think you saw, sir.  
  
I _know_ what I saw, Gordon. It was him, it was Sam.  
  
Artie placed a tender hand on Grant's forearm, I didn't mean to sound as if I doubted you  
  
Grant swallowed and then spoke softly, I was in bed; I couldn't sleep. It was so damned cold in here. I got up to check the windows, but they were closed. That's when I felt it....  
  
Felt what, sir?  
  
A presence. But not like another person, exactly...it's hard to describe.  
  
A faraway look crept into Artie's eyes, It's knowing that no one is there because there's no breath, and there isn't the weight of displaced molecules behind you. And yet, you can feel eyes watching you.  
  
Yes, that's it exactly. Grant's eyes narrowed, You described it exactly. And then the shoe dropped, You experienced it too.  
  
Artie nodded and stood, Last night, when I was on watch.  
  
When you were _what_?  
  
I'm sorry Mr. President, but both Jim and I felt ill at ease leaving you unprotected.  
  
So the two of you disobeyed my orders and stood outside my door all night.  
  
Yes sir. But now that the calvary's here, we'll leave that duty to Lt. Gelbhardt.  
  
Grant's voice softened, Who did you see?  
  
Pardon me, sir?  
  
Last night, in the hallway, you said you felt a presence, who was it?  
  
I don't know sir. When I turned to look, there was nothing there. Maybe it was just my imagination.  
  
Well, I know I wasn't imagining anything. I felt the presence, and when I turned, he was standing right over there.  
  
Right over where? Show me.  
  
Grant moved to his suitcase standing in the corner.  
  
Artie frowned, That's an odd spot to be....  
  
Not really.....that's where the picture was. I always carry it, but I never display it with the rest of the family.  
  
Did he say anything to you, or do anything?  
  
No. He just stood there.  
  
Tell me, sir, how many people know about Sam?  
  
No one outside of my family, and now you. Grant looked uneasy, You think it's a hoax?  
  
I'm not sure what to think right now, Mr. President. One thing's for sure, I'm not ready to jump to the conclusion that this place is haunted by your brother's spirit.  
  
A hollow look passed through Grant's eyes, Sam looked so sad.  
  
Artie walked over to Grant and placed a calm hand on his shoulder, Come on sir, I think you should get some rest now.  
  
Gordon walked the President over to his bed, and waited while the man settled into it. Then he lowered the oil lamp on the night stand, but before he could turn it off, Grant's hand over his stopped him.  
  
Leave it slightly illuminated, would you?  
  
Of course, sir.  
  
The unsettled look in the caring eyes of Grant struck Artie as surely as a blow. The agent hesitated, gently squeezing the President's hand before letting it go.  
  
Do you want me to stay for awhile?  
  
No, I'm fine.  
  
Okay. Good night, Mr. President.  
  
Good night, Gordon. Artie was almost out the door when the commander-in-chief spoke again,   
  
Yes sir?  
  
What I told you stays between us.  
  
I can't compromise your security, sir, so I'll have to tell Jim some of it. But I won't violate your confidence. I owe you that.  
  
A knowing smile passed between them as Grant answered, Yes, I suppose you do.  
  
Artie closed the door and nodded to the infantryman stationed outside the door. He debated whether or not to talk to Jim now or in the morning, but his own fatigue won out, and Gordon decided that morning was soon enough. He crossed to his own door, opened it and went inside. Chilly air, memories of loved ones lost in tragedy, and ghosts. Artie shook his head as he undressed for bed.   
  
What was it about this place?


	7. Chapter Seven

Jim knocked on Artie's door a second time, Artemus? Let's go, rise and shine.  
  
But there was no answer. The infantryman in front of Grant's door spoke up.  
  
He went downstairs about two hours ago, Mr. West.  
  
Two hours?  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Jim frowned. Artie was not an early bird by any definition. He thanked the man on watch and quickly made his way downstairs to the dining room. He spotted his partner sitting at a table by the window, staring out at the lake. He was pale, unshaven and looked like he hadn't slept in two days. In short, he looked terrible. Jim walked to the table and sat down across from Gordon, who didn't seem to notice the sudden intrusion.  
  
  
  
Hmm? Oh, hi Jim.  
  
Everything all right?  
  
Yeah of course, why wouldn't it be?  
  
An eyebrow shot up in mock amusement, Well for starters, you look like hell.  
  
Gordon reached up and ran a hand across his face, I forgot to shave, didn't I?  
  
Yeah. And from the looks of it, you forgot to sleep too. What's going on, Artie?  
  
Artemus feigned a smile, Nothing. I'm fine. He stood up, Look, I'm going upstairs to shave, I'll meet you at the President's room later.  
  
Before Jim had a chance to ask him about his conversation with the President, Gordon was gone. West shook his head. He ordered eggs and coffee from the young waitress, and ate in silence, mulling over some of the stranger things of the past few days. While the peace talks were progressing at about the rate any of them might have anticipated, Jim couldn't keep the sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach at bay. Yesterday, Grant looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and was as grumpy as a bear in hibernation; and today, it was Artie. And there had been the odd sensation in the hallway the first night that he was being watched.   
  
He needed answers. Jim quickly finished his breakfast and walked out into the lobby of the Stokes Inn. He approached Mr. O'Connell, who was puttering at the front desk.  
  
Good morning, Mr. O'Connell.  
  
Yes, good morning, Mr. West. How can I help you?  
  
I'd just like to ask you a few questions, if I may.  
  
Of course.  
  
Have you ever had any trouble here?  
  
Trouble? You mean like Indians?  
  
Well, that, or anything else. Anything...unusual.  
  
O'Connell began to fidget slightly, and turned his attention to some papers as he spoke, I don't know what you mean, Mr. West. Our Inn has an excellent reputation.  
  
West watched as the man nervously shuffled the papers around the desk.  
  
It is a very fine establishment, Mr. O'Connell; but even fine establishments have histories.  
  
O'Connell looked up at West, then glanced around nervously.  
  
Well, if you're asking about the resident ghost that the chamber maids prattle on about, I have never witnessed any such goings on. And I've worked here for the past ten years.  
  
Jim's eyes raised in disbelief, Ghosts, Mr. O'Connell?  
  
That's the lore, yes. Of course, I'm a well educated man, so I know better. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. West.  
  
Jim smiled,   
  
As O'Connell started away, Jim knocked the hotel register loudly to the floor. The man jumped ten feet in the air, as if expecting something more to happen.  
  
West grinned,   
  
Good day, Mr. West.  
  
Yes, good day, Mr. O'Connell.  
  
Jim headed upstairs to meet Artie and Grant, pondering the strangeness of the desk clerk, and the absurd story of a resident spirit. If there was one thing Jim West knew didn't exist, it was ghosts. But then, his partner surely looked as though he had seen one this morning. It would warrant further consideration and investigation. In the meantime, West needed to turn his attention to the protection of the President, and the _plausible_ threats to his life, or the negotiations. He spotted Artie, staring out the window at the end of the hall, and walked over to him.  
  
Hey Artie...  
  
Gordon started, Do you have to sneak up on a man like that?  
  
From his body language, Jim could see that his partner wasn't joking. He patted Gordon on the arm.  
  
Take it easy, Artie, you're as nervous as a cat this morning. Did you get anything out of the President last night?  
  
Gordon looked away, Not really.  
  
West prodded, But there was something....  
  
Gordon sighed, Yes. He didn't sleep well the night before, said his room was too cold.  
  
That's it?  
  
Artie couldn't bear to look Jim in the eyes, Yeah, that was it.  
  
West's brow furrowed; Artie was lying to him. Gordon started to move away, and Jim grabbed his coat sleeve, hard.  
  
Are you sure that's all you want to tell me?  
  
Artemus looked down at the floor, his voice soft, I promised him, Jim.  
  
We're talking about the safety of the President, Artemus. That has to come first, and you know it.  
  
He.....he thought he saw someone in his room.  
  
Jim's eyes widened in shock, and his voice was tight with anger, And you weren't gonna tell me? Have you lost your mind?  
  
Gordon looked over at the infantryman who was watching them with morbid curiosity. He pulled Jim further away.  
  
Lower your voice, will ya? Let's not spread the President's laundry all over the Inn.  
  
Then you'd better start talkin' Artie.  
  
Gordon took a slow breath, and leaned in close, Look, it wasn't a real person he saw.  
  
  
  
It was some sort of.... apparition.  
  
You're tellin' me that the President of the United States saw a ghost in his room? Oh for god's sake, Artie...  
  
I know it sounds nuts, Jim, but Grant's convinced that what he saw was real.  
  
West studied his partner for a moment, And you believe him, don't you?  
  
Gordon ran a hand through his thick hair, Well, let's just say I'm not ready to discard it as simply his imagination.  
  
Ghosts, Artie? It's ridiculous.  
  
Artie's eyes bore into West's, I'm not so sure, Jim.  
  
The nickel dropped for Jim, Are you telling me you saw something too?  
  
The color drained completely from Gordon's face, and he began pacing nervously.  
  
I....I don't know.  
  
Jim grabbed a hold of Gordon's arms, stopping him, What do you mean you don't know? Either you saw something or you didn't.  
  
The big brown eyes looked up into Jim's blue ones, and the vulnerability in them softened West slightly. He loosened his grip on his partner, and gently straightened Gordon's coat.  
  
I'm sorry, Artie. It's just that you're telling me that the President might have been compromised, and well, that means we're not doing a very good job of protecting him.  
  
Artie nodded, I know. Look, don't mention it to the President, he's pretty sensitive about it.  
  
Then why in the hell did he mention it to you?  
  
Artie tried to make light of it, I'm the smart, debonaire, handsome half of this team, remember? I coaxed it out of him.  
  
Jim wasn't buying it at all, but he decided to let it go. Artie looked a little worse for the wear in any case. West let go of Gordon's coat, and smoothed out his lapel, noting as he did so that Artie's clothes felt thick. He pat his partner's vest, and frowned, and before Gordon could draw away, he reached beneath Artie's shirt, discovering long underwear.  
  
Artie....why the hell are you wearing long-johns?  
  
Gordon pulled away from Jim, I'm just a little cold, that's all.  
  
Cold? It's early fall, Artie. It's not that chilly.  
  
Jim reached up and felt his partner's forehead, You don't feel warm to me.  
  
Artemus angrily brushed Jim's hand away, and his voice was tinged with annoyance, I'm fine. Can we just drop it?  
  
West noted that his partner was becoming as surly as the President, but for now, he needed to let it pass, as Grant was coming out of his room. The two agents turned to their superior, who quickly realized he had broken into a very intense conversation.  
  
Good morning, boys, am I interrupting something?  
  
They both answered, No sir.  
  
Fine, fine. Let's get going then.  
  
Yes sir, they once again chimed in unison.  
  
The three of them entered the conference room, and everyone quickly took their seats. Jim took up his position behind the President, and Artie his, by the windows between Jim and the door. Gordon shivered slightly, and crossed his arms in front of himself; it wasn't lost on West, but it was something that would have to wait.


	8. Chapter Eight

Jim glanced over at his partner, and concern washed over West's face. Artie looked tired enough to drop right where he was standing; and the afternoon session wasn't finished. Gordon felt the stare and looked at Jim, noting the worry. He smiled, trying to reassure him. James West was not reassured. He frowned and turned his attention back to the speaker.  
  
I'm sorry, Iron Fist, but I cannot in good conscience, agree to any treaty that does not provide some kind of law for the Sioux nation.  
  
Iron Fist spoke slowly and deliberately, I do not know you, Sanborn, as I know General Grant--  
  
Sanborn cut him off, --That's _President_ Grant.  
  
Grant spoke up, Sanborn, let the man speak, let's not worry about titles.  
  
Iron Fist nodded at Grant, No offense was meant.  
  
None taken, please continue.  
  
This man Sanborn speaks of the white man's law. We are Sioux. We do not recognize the law of the pale nation. An agreement that saves the lives of my people and yours is what I seek, not one that binds what should be free.  
  
Sanborn's annoyance filled his tone, The Sioux cannot continue to run wild up and down Missouri, killing men, women and children who are simply trying to protect their cattle and property.  
  
The Sioux do not kill women and children.  
  
Sanborn stared into the angry face of Stands to the Sun, I've seen the carnage myself. It was not limited to men.  
  
Stands to the Sun stood up, knocking his chair over, Then it was not Sioux.  
  
Jim and Artie both advanced forward a ways, prepared for the worst. Iron Fist gently placed a hand over his brave's forearm, and the man pulled his chair back up and sat down.  
  
Iron Fist's voice remained steady, Stands to the Sun has a heart of fire, but he speaks the truth.  
  
Grant ran a hand over his face, Gentlemen, I'd like to remind everyone that we did not come here to debate over what has taken place in the past. We are here to determine the course of the future. Mr. Sanborn I ask that you not bring up the subject of who did what to whom again, it will not help us come to an agreement at this table. Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I suggest we call it a day and begin anew tomorrow.  
  
General Sherman piped up, I quite agree, Mr. President.  
  
Iron Fist nodded, As always, you speak with thought behind your words.  
  
Then we will resume tomorrow morning. Have a pleasant evening, everyone.  
  
The President stood, Jim and Artie immediately taking up their places behind him. The three of them exited the room and proceeded down the hallway.  
  
A fairly difficult day, Mr. President, Jim commented, What would you like for dinner?  
  
Grant stopped and turned to West, I'm not really hungry, James, more tired than anything. I think I'm going to retire to my room. Mr. Gordon, if you will accompany me.  
  
Before West could argue, the President was moving down the hallway. The two agents exchanged a look, Artemus shrugged at his partner, and quickly caught up with Grant. Slightly bewildered, Jim made his way toward the dining room. Grant and Gordon walked up the stairs in silence, but at the door to his room, Grant finally spoke.  
  
I'd like a word, Mr. Gordon, if you don't mind.  
  
Of course, sir.  
  
Grant opened the door, and Artie followed him in. Gordon noticed that the room was at least ten degrees cooler than the hallway.  
  
There is a terrible draft in here, Mr. President. I'll go down stairs and get someone up here to take care of it, you'll catch your death--  
  
--Artemus. We both know there isn't a draft in here. The large brown eyes met the grey-blue ones in understanding. Grant continued, You look unwell, Mr. Gordon....  
  
I'm fine, Mr. President.  
  
Grant moved closer, his voice low and dangerous, Don't lie to me, Mr. Gordon. It does not become you, and I promise you, it will only serve to irritate me. The hurt in Artie's eyes tore at Grant, who scolded him like a child, Now don't you do that....  
  
But the President could sense the confusion in Gordon, and backed off slightly.  
  
Tell me what happened last night.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Grant had to take a deep breath to stay calm, Mr. Gordon, we have already established that I know you're lying to me, and that I do not appreciate it. Now I'm ordering you to tell me what happened to you last night, because quite obviously, something did. All day you have looked to be on the verge of becoming violently ill.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Artie began pacing as he spoke, I couldn't sleep. The temperature in my room kept dropping until I could see my breath. And then I heard a noise.  
  
What kind of noise?  
  
A rustling. Grant frowned and Artie tried to explain, Like material being moved, or rubbed together.  
  
Grant noticed that Gordon's hands were shaking and he pointed to the two chairs next to each other, Sit down, I'll get you a drink.  
  
Artemus obeyed without comment, and downed the bourbon the President handed him. Grant reacted with a slightly raised eyebrow, but poured another. He sat down next to Artie and waited, after a few minutes, Gordon tried to continue.  
  
It sounded like....like...  
  
Like what?  
  
Like a woman's skirts as she moves.  
  
From the pallor of Gordon's face, it wasn't hard for Grant to guess what woman he was talking about. He squeezed Artie's shoulder as he stood up to reach the decanter full of bourbon. He poured Gordon another.  
  
Are you sure it was her?  
  
Artie nodded, his voice shaking slightly, I'd know that sound anywhere. And her perfume. I could smell her perfume.  
  
But did you see her?  
  
No. But Mr. President, I would swear that--  
  
--I know. Grant smiled at Artemus, Well Gordon, this means one of two things. Either we're both going round the bend, or what we've experienced is real.  
  
There is one other possibility, Mr. President.... Someone could be setting us up.  
  
Grant stood and began pacing, Yes, but how? No one except the closest members of my family know about Sam. And how many people have you ever told about Nanette?  
  
You're the only one still alive who knows, Mr. President.  
  
Grant turned to face Artie, surprise in his tone, You never told West?  
  
Gordon looked away, his voice quiet, No sir. It's never come up.  
  
Grant looked dubious about that, but left it alone. He remembered all too well the anguish and sorrow Nanette's death had caused the younger man. And after that night, Gordon was never the same. He patted Artie's shoulder.  
  
Why don't you go to bed early. You look like you could use the extra rest.  
  
Gordon set his glass down as he stood, Yes sir. We both could use some sleep.  
  
Grant walked him to the door, and opened it.  
  
Artemus if.....if you need to talk, I'm here.  
  
Artie smiled, And you, Mr. President. He pointed to his door, I'll be right over there....  
  
Grant chuckled softly and closed the door. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, shivering. He hoped that it would be an uneventful night, but somewhere deep down in his soul, he knew it would not.


	9. Chapter Nine

Jim had waited for Artemus to return downstairs and join him for dinner, but he never did. As West sipped an after dinner coffee, he systematically ran through all the facts he knew in his mind. Grant was unusually snappish and almost unkind to Artie; but then, twice he had spoken in confidence to Artemus, deliberately leaving West out of the loop. First the President had appeared pale and overly tired, then Artie, and neither of them seemed to have slept well since their arrival at Stokes Inn. Artie's mood had deteriorated decidedly since they had been there, and he had chosen not to share information that was tantamount to the President's safety, both of which were unlike his partner.   
  
Then there was the night Jim had felt a chilled air in the hallway, but no windows were open. And he had felt a presence that wasn't there. Artemus was wearing long-johns under his clothing _indoors_, and West had noticed the President shivering more than once during the negotiations, yet standing right behind him, Jim had not felt a draft. O'Connell, the clerk, admitted that the chamber maids tell stories about ghosts haunting the Inn, and the reality that the man was ready to bolt at a loud noise made Jim wonder about the validity of the tale. And finally, there was the altercation between Sanborn and the Sioux in the afternoon session of negotiations. In and of itself, not surprising given the hot tempers he had seen, except that Sanborn's reputation as a talented arbitrator, contradicted the behavior Jim had witnessed.  
  
The more he rolled the details through his mind, the more he became convinced that something was amiss; however, he needed additional information. Whatever was going on between Grant and Artemus, Jim was going to have to force the issue, for both their sakes, and possibly for the sake of peace. A voice speaking to him brought West out of his ruminations.  
  
May I join you, Mr. West?  
  
West looked up to see Iron Fist staring at him.  
  
Of course. I would be honored.  
  
Iron Fist sat down in a chair, and waved off Stands to the Sun, who begrudgingly moved away.  
  
May I get you anything? A drink? Some food?  
  
No, I am fine, thank you.  
  
Your English is excellent.  
  
When I was young, my father made me study the ways of my enemy, so that I would better understand how to defeat him.  
  
Are we still your enemy, Iron Fist?  
  
Some are. But I think you are not. And I know that Grant is a friend.  
  
Yes, the President wants to see peace between our peoples.   
  
Iron Fist stared hard at Jim, almost as if he were looking right through him.  
  
Is something wrong? You're staring at me.  
  
Forgive me. I do not mean an offense. It is out of habit that I size up another.  
  
And what do you think?  
  
I think that you can be trusted.  
  
Is there something you want to tell me, Iron Fist?  
  
Yes. But we must not discuss it here. Come with me.  
  
Aware that he might be walking into a trap, West could see no other way around the invitation. If he didn't go with Iron Fist, the chief would consider it an insult; besides, Jim's curiosity was peaked. He left money on the table, and followed Iron Fist and Stands to the Sun out of the dining room, and through the back door of the Inn. He fleetingly wondered where Artie was, but all thoughts of his partner went out of his head as soon as the black hood was slammed down over it, and he was overpowered by several men.


	10. Chapter Ten

He had been hog-tied and placed on his belly in the saddle of a horse. Wherever their destination, they had ridden fast to get to it, and several times, West thought he was going to be sick from being jostled so much. He was untied and several men grabbed, him, taking him up a hill. From the echo around him, West surmised that they had entered a cavern of some kind. They stopped and then he heard a familiar voice issuing commands in Lakota. He was released and the hood removed. Standing before him, as he knew would be, was Iron Fist.  
  
That's one helluva way to make friends, chief.  
  
I am sorry for the way we brought you here, but wisdom demands that we do not give away this location.  
  
You could have simply asked me to where a blindfold.  
  
Would you have gone along with it? When Jim didn't answer, Iron Fist did, I thought not, Mr. West.  
  
Well, now that you have me here, do you mind telling me what you want?  
  
Are you familiar with the responsibilities of a Shaman?  
  
Jim pursed his lips thinking, Not terribly, no. Just that they're tribal medicine men in addition to being religious leaders.  
  
  
  
What does this have to do with the peace treaty?  
  
Iron Fist stood aside revealing one of the interpreters from the conference. Jim's brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
He is not as he appears, Mr. West. This is Cantetekiya.  
  
Brave Heart?  
  
Very good, Mr. West. I see your father prepared you for those you would face as enemies.  
  
Jim grinned, Well, it was actually my uncle Sam who prepared me. Greetings Cantetekiya.  
  
The man nodded at West, but said nothing.  
  
Iron Fist continued, He is our tribal Shaman.  
  
A ringer....  
  
A what?  
  
Jim smiled, A ringer. That's what we call someone who is placed on a team as one thing, but is actually another.  
  
Hmm, I suppose that is true, although Brave Heart speaks English quite well, and can perform his function as translator.  
  
I'm beginning to wonder why you have translators, Iron Fist, you obviously don't need any.  
  
I do not, and Stands to the Sun does not. But many of my people attending the talks do.  
  
Cantetekiya walked to West, stopping right in front of him, staring at him as Iron Fist had done earlier. This time, Jim just waited it out, knowing what the Shaman was doing.  
  
He is without poison, Mazaponkaska.  
  
Without poison?  
  
He means you do not intend harm.  
  
I thought we already established that...  
  
You must understand, Mr. West, that this is a very delicate situation.  
  
And exactly what is the situation you want to discuss?  
  
Come, sit.  
  
West followed the chief to the back of the cave where they sat down on animal skins spread on the floor of the cavern. Iron Fist spoke in Lakota to a brave, who quickly brought two cups and a jug. He handed the cups to West and Iron Fist, and then poured a light liquid into them.   
  
It is wild peppermint tea.  
  
Jim raised his cup to Iron Fist and took a sip. It tasted delicious, and had been sweetened slightly with honey. West looked at the chief, waiting for him to explain why the agent had been abducted and brought to a cave. After several minutes of silence, when his patience was becoming thin, Iron Fist finally set his cup down and looked at West.  
  
The Sioux have many spiritual beliefs that are different from the white man, Mr. West. We believe in the power of animal totems, and the healing of the Shaman. We know of the great vision quests brought through the rites of passage in a sweat lodge; of the call of the birdsong and the nature of the inner spirit. It is the spirit that concerns us now.  
  
I don't understand.  
  
Iron Fist reached over, placing his flat palm on Jim's chest, The inner spirit, Mr. West, what in the pale nation is called the soul. The Sioux have witnessed many comings and goings of spirit. Cantetekiya is a wise Shaman, he is very gifted in the ways of my people, and our ancestors.  
  
I'm sorry Iron Fist, but I fail to see what this has to do with the peace treaty.  
  
Everything. Cantetekiya can sense when a place has others dwelling there.  
  
Others? What do you mean?  
  
Those not of this earth. Those who were taken violently and have not made their peace with the passing.  
  
All due respect, Chief Iron Fist, but am I to understand that you've brought me out here to this cave, to tell me a ghost story?   
  
Iron Fist withdrew his hand and took in a long sigh of air. Then once again, he looked at West.  
  
Yes and no. I realize that you whites have different traditions, but I ask you to consider my words with an open mind. Is that not the action of a friend?  
  
Jim nodded, Yes, yes it is.  
  
Cantetekiya felt a disturbance the moment he walked into the Inn. And it has grown with each passing hour.  
  
Can you explain to me exactly what this disturbance' is?  
  
It is difficult to translate; when a man dies, his spirit makes a journey to the afterlife. But some spirits, mostly those who have died violently or unexpectedly, linger. They do not go to the other world, yet there are no longer part of this one.  
  
So you're saying that your Shaman believes that the Stokes Inn is haunted by some ghost who died violently on the grounds.  
  
This disturbance is more than that, Mr. West. Cantetekiya feels it is far stronger than a spirit of the Mohonk land. He has seen in a vision that it is several spirits, all of them linked to the living by an emotional bond that has not been severed out of guilt.  
  
  
  
Yes. Those who feel somehow responsible for the deaths of the mortal lives of these spirits.  
  
And you believe that this is a threat to the peace talks.  
  
  
  
I don't see how.  
  
Mr. West, two of the people affected by these spirits are your President Grant, and your partner, Artemus Gordon.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Artie had been tossing and turning all night, and still he couldn't find a comfortable position. He pulled the covers tightly around his neck, shivering. It was so damned cold. He thought he heard a faint sound in the room, like material rubbing together, or the swishing of skirts. He opened his eyes, but could see nothing. A moment later, his nostrils filled with the light scent of honeysuckle and fresh rain. It had to be her. He sat up in bed, straining his eyes in the dark.  
  
His voice shook, whether from fear or anticipation he did not know, "Nanette?"  
  
A charming feminine laugh rippled through the room. Artie stood, turning up the oil lamp, and there she was, standing by the French doors leading out to the balcony. His heart slammed into his throat. He didn't know whether to be frightened over losing his mind, or overjoyed at seeing her again. Tentatively he moved toward her; she indicated neither pleasure at his advance, nor anger. Gordon stopped a few feet from her, unsure of himself.  
  
His voice was barely a whisper, "Nanette....h-how can it be you?"  
  
The angelic smile he remembered and loved so much, lit her lips, "Artemus, I've missed you."  
  
Artie felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He was afraid to speak, no longer trusting his own voice. The tears began rolling down his face, but it didn't matter. However it was that she had come to be with him, he didn't want to know. He only cared that she _was_ there, and she was _alive_. Through flooded eyes, he watched her move toward him, reaching out with her hands to tenderly wipe his face. He felt her soft hands touch his lips, and he knew without a doubt that she was real.  
  
With a strength of emotion he didn't know he could still feel, Artemus pulled her toward him, sobbing into her neck. She stroked the back of his head, placing gentle kisses over his throat. Somewhere in the background, he thought he heard a knock on his door. But it was not important. There was nothing more important, than the woman he thought he lost, standing here, now, in his arms. Artemus cried without reservation; he cried tears of joy, tempered by sadness and pain.  
  
"I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry..."  
  
Nanette threaded her fingers through his hair, "Shhh, darling, everything's all right now."  
  
But the knock was persistent. Artie could feel her slipping from his grasp.  
  
His voice was filled with desperation, "No! No, please.... Don't leave me...not again."  
  
His head began to spin, as she disintegrated from his arms.....  
  
_He found himself on the steps of the church in St. Louis. But the beautiful little church was a fireball. He had to get in there, he had to save her. He was fighting against something. No, someone. A man was holding him. He had to break free, or she would die. He couldn't bear to see her die. He fought against the arms surrounding his chest, and realized that he was wounded.   
  
A gruff voice barked into his ear, "Stand down, Lieutenant, do you hear me? You've been shot, just stay still."  
  
His voice cried out, "She's in there, I have to help her. General, please let me go!"  
  
The voice softened, "Artemus.....it's too late. Stop fighting me."  
  
As the structure began to collapse, the strong arms quickly pulled him off the steps and back to the safety of the lawn. Artemus couldn't bear to watch as the steeple fell into the main body of the church. He felt Grant pull him into his arms, holding him as he sobbed uncontrollably.....  
_  
"I've got you, son. It's going to be all right."  
  
Artemus tightly gripped the clothing of the man holding him, trying to focus his mind in the present. After a moment, he realized it was Grant who was gently cradling him.  
  
His voice was a hoarse whisper, as though he had been in a fire, "She was here. I couldn't hold on to her. I tried, but she slipped away from me..."  
  
Grant didn't need to ask who the woman was; he remembered all too well.  
  
Artie buried his face into Grant's chest, weeping. The President's eyes slammed shut in empathic pain. He closed his arms around Gordon, and held him for a moment, rocking him gently. He turned toward the Captain, who was standing at a discreet distance.  
  
"Gelbhardt, help me get him into bed."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Together, they carefully lifted Artie, and settled him into the bed. Grant pulled the covers up around the shivering man, and sat on the edge of the mattress, his eyes full of worry.  
  
"Captain, find out where in the hell West is; after all this commotion, if he was in his room, he'd be here. Something must have happened."  
  
"Yes Mr. President."  
  
Grant waited until the captain had cleared the room, and then he met the anguished dark eyes with his grey-blue ones. Artemus was looking to him for some measure of comfort. But guilt was all he had to offer.  
  
"You didn't tell me...."  
  
"I'm sorry. I should have."  
  
"You relived the moment that--"  
  
"--Yes. The exact moment of Sam's death. It was as if I was there and it was happening all over again. I'm sorry, Artemus, I should have told you."  
  
Artie took an uneven breath, and Grant placed a concerned hand on Gordon's forehead.  
  
"You going to be all right?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
The door opened quickly, and West entered almost at a run. He looked first to the President, and then to his trembling partner.  
  
"Mr. President...."  
  
"I'm fine, James."  
  
As always, West's voice belied his concern, "Artie...you okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Just peachy."  
  
Grant's tone was slightly stern, "Where have you been, West?"  
  
"Powwow with Iron Fist. What happened in here? Why is it so cold?"  
  
A look passed between Grant and Gordon, the latter's eyes pleading for the President's silence.  
  
"Gordon here had a nightmare, got out of bed too quickly and hit his head, that's all."  
  
Jim wasn't convinced, "Artie?"  
  
"I'm fine Jim, really."  
  
"Artemus you look terrible, maybe we should call a doctor--"  
  
Grant stood and pulled Jim by his sleeve toward the door, "--Get some rest, Gordon. We'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Yes, Mr. President."  
  
Grant herded West out into the hallway, "He's had a tough night, James, I thought it might be better for us to talk elsewhere."  
  
Jim knew it wasn't the whole truth, but as he had done so often in the past few days, he let it go.  
  
"Come into my room." Jim hesitated, looking back at Artie's door, Grant touched his sleeve. "He'll be fine, Jim. He's always been a lot tougher than you give him credit for being."  
  
West followed Grant into his room and closed the door. The President poured two bourbons.  
  
"Tell me what you learned from Iron Fist."  
  
Jim was still distracted, "I've never seen Artie look so frightened.....or so pale. Maybe we shouldn't have left him alone."  
  
Grant could see that there would be no moving on without some kind of explanation.   
  
"He had a bad nightmare, Jim, he'll be fine."  
  
"Forgive me, Mr. President, but such things are not a regular occurrence with him."  
  
"I know that." West's eyes bore into Grant's, and after a long sigh, Grant continued, "His dream brought up a lot of very deep-seated emotions. Look, Jim, you've known Artemus for a long time, and in many ways you know him much better than I do; but, there are still a few things you don't know about him."  
  
"Such as?" Grant stared at Jim, and West pushed harder, "Mr. President, _please_. He's my partner, and I can't help him if I don't know the truth."  
  
Grant sighed, resigned to what would be.  
  
"It was barely two weeks after the Battle at Fort Donalson; my first major victory of the war, and Artemus was serving as my aide. It was shortly before we recruited you from the stockade."  
  
"I thought that's where you found all your best officers..."  
  
"No James, just you. Artemus had been engaged to a very sweet girl he had courted in St. Louis a good year before he was transferred to my command. Following our victory at Fort Donalson, he didn't want to wait any longer to marry the girl. He sent a telegram to her, and invited several of us to come with him to St. Louis. It should have been a quiet evening wedding in a pretty little church just outside of town. And it almost was."  
  
"I had no idea...."  
  
"He never talks about it, James. At least I've never heard him so much as reference his marriage after that night."   
  
Jim swallowed hard, "What happened?"  
  
The President took a long sip from his glass before he continued.   
  
"Artemus and Nanette had just exchanged vows, when all hell broke loose. The Confederacy chose that night to launch a minor offensive on St. Louis, and as the only Union soldiers for miles, we had to act. He told Nanette and the others to stay put, because the church would be safe. He never thought for a second that the Confederates would set fire to a chapel full of people."  
  
Jim closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the full measure of anguish he knew his friend must have felt, and Grant waited, steadying him with a gentle hand on his arm.  
  
"By the time we got back there, it was too late. The church was engulfed in flames, and about to collapse. Artemus had taken a bullet in the ribs, and I still had all I could do to keep him from running like a madman into that burning building. We watched as the structure collapsed, killing his new wife and everyone else in that church, unable to do a damned thing." Grant's voice grew softer, "I can't imagine the pain and guilt he feels, West, I truly can't."  
  
Jim was stunned. All the years they had been together, and Artemus had never mentioned that he was a widower, nor made any reference to the misery he must have gone through. For a quick moment, Jim felt jealous that Grant shared so personal a bond with his partner, but then just as quickly, he was over it. He wondered if Artie had told Lily. With moist eyes, he looked at the President.  
  
"It wasn't just a nightmare, was it sir..."  
  
Grant studied him, "What are you getting at?"  
  
"Artie thought she was real, didn't he?"  
  
"How could you have known that?"  
  
"Pour yourself a refill, Mr. President, and I'll tell you a tale I heard from the Chief and his Shaman...."


	12. Chapter Twelve

  
Grant stared intensely at West, Do you believe them?  
  
Jim shrugged and began pacing in front of the President's chair, I'm convinced that Iron Fist believes it. But ghosts, Mr. President? It's perfectly ridiculous.  
  
Grant stiffened slightly in his chair, Would you call me a superstitious man, West?  
  
No sir.  
  
An easily deluded one?  
  
Of course not.  
  
And yet, West, I know what I saw.  
  
Jim stood in front of the President's chair, I don't doubt that you believe you saw something, Mr. President, but—  
  
—Don't patronize me, West.  
  
I'm not trying to, sir. Jim sat next to Grant, I'm a born skeptic, Mr. President. Besides, I haven't given up on the fact that this could be a hoax.  
  
Grant shook his head, I don't see how.  
  
We've witnessed stranger things, Mr. President.  
  
Yes, but how would anyone know about Gordon's marriage or my—  
  
Grant caught himself and stopped short. Jim waited. The President looked away, his voice growing much softer when he spoke again, as if filled with the pain of regret.  
  
Who do you suspect of such an elaborate  
  
Jim pursed his lips. Grant was obviously not amused, and the fact that West was operating under a hunch wasn't helping.  
  
I don't suspect anyone  
  
Grant considered his response carefully before answering, I trust you, James, you know that.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
The President stared into his top agent's eyes for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Finally, he came to a decision.  
  
Gordon can baby-sit me during the conference sessions. You start looking into this.  
  
Jim frowned, I'm not sure Artie's up to handling much, Mr. President. He didn't look so good tonight.  
  
He'll be fine by tomorrow. He just let his sentiments get the best of him; you know how emotional he can be at times.  
  
James West knew better than anyone.  
  
Jim began nervously fingering the buttons on his vest, What was she like?  
  
Grant looked confused.   
  
Artie's wife.  
  
A sad but sweet smile tugged at the President's lips, She was a beautiful girl. Tall and slender, with long blonde hair. A calm personality. I only met her briefly, but she seemed so very kindhearted.  
  
Just like him....  
  
Grant stood up and set his glass down, You let me know what you uncover tomorrow.  
  
West took the hint, standing, Have a good night, sir.  
  
Yes, what's left of it...  
  
Jim walked out, softly closing the door behind him. He stood in front of Artie's room for a moment, contemplating checking on him. But West thought better of it. He entered his own room, and noted that it was much warmer than either Artie's or Grant's had been tonight. The temperature differential continued to trouble him; it was completely without logic.  
  
After hanging up his gun belt and hat, Jim settled on his bed. He felt tired, but his mind was still turning over all the issues at hand. He thought through the latest turn of events. West didn't pretend to fully understand Sioux mysticism, but he was a good judge of character. Iron Fist was many things, but a liar was not among them. The chief truly believed that the strange occurrences at the Inn were the work of something supernatural. West did not have the same confidence of character in the impetuous Stands to the Sun, or the covert Shaman.  
  
And then there was Gordon and Grant. West knew these two men. Neither was likely to be fooled easily, so whomever was behind this ghostly prank not only had a lot of resources, but also had a lot of assistance. Unfortunately at this point, anyone could be the master behind all of the curiosities. But who was it, and more importantly, to what end? Jim needed answers, not more questions, and yet questions were all that were coming to him. One after the other, rolling through his mind.  
  
His thoughts were disrupted by a bloodcurdling scream somewhere in the hotel.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Jim sprang from the bed and bolted out of his room. The hallway was eerily empty, and the most obvious thing missing was the infantryman in front of the President's door. His heart beat quickened as he reached for the door handle of Grant's room. The door suddenly flew open.  
  
What the hell is going on?  
  
West was relieved, Are you all right?  
  
I'm fine. Where did that scream come from?  
  
I don't know, but your guard is gone, and I can't leave you up here alone.  
  
Grant had all he could do to keep his temper from flaring, I don't need you to hold my hand, West. I commanded entire regiments in the fire of battle, if you leave me with a gun, somehow I think I'll hold my own.  
  
West looked the President in the eyes,   
  
Before the argument could continue, there was the sound of men coming up the stairs. Jim drew his gun, and gently pushed the President further back into his room, closing the door. Captain Gelbhardt was in front of several delegates clad in bathrobes, a handful of soldiers and Mr. O'Connell, the clerk. Jim holstered his weapon, and opened the door again, allowing an annoyed Grant to stand in the doorway. The men following Gelbhardt all started talking at once.  
  
What the hell happened?  
  
Who screamed?  
  
Sounded like it was up here...  
  
Jim held his hands up to them, Hold on, hold on. He turned to Gelbhardt, Where's the man who's supposed to be on the President's door?  
  
Gelbhardt tried unsuccessfully to cover his surprise, I don't know...  
  
That's the wrong answer, Captain Gelbhardt. Jim put a rein on his anger, What happened downstairs?  
  
Downstairs? That scream came from up here.  
  
West and Grant exchanged a look.  
  
West said, No, the scream was downstairs.  
  
Mr. O'Connell joined in the fray, Mr. West, I do beg to differ, but that bloodcurdling shriek definitely came from up here.  
  
Jim let out a long sigh, Okay, everyone get back to their rooms, please. Captain Gelbhardt, his men and I will take care of this.   
  
The delegates headed back downstairs, commenting amongst themselves. O'Connell stayed behind.  
  
Mr. O'Connell, Jim said, We'll take it from here.  
  
Mr. West, as the hotel representative, I demand to know what you're planning on doing here.  
  
As soon as I think of something, I'll be sure to let you know.  
  
A soldier ran up the stairs, yelling, Captain! Captain!  
  
What is it, private?  
  
Private Simon, sir, we found him.  
  
West stepped up to the man,   
  
In the kitchen downstairs. He's dead.  
  
Gelbhardt turned toward two soldiers, You two stay on up here. The rest of you are with me. Mr. West?  
  
I'll be with you in a moment. And Captain...  
  
  
  
Don't move anything.  
  
Gelbhardt and his troops moved out with O'Connell right behind. West turned to Grant.  
  
These two men will be on your door, sir, in case there's a problem.  
  
What makes you think I'm staying here?  
  
Mr. President--  
  
--Stand down, West. Let me know what you find.  
  
Jim looked over toward Gordon's room, and then it hit him. Why hadn't Artie come out to see what was going on? Jim went to the door, and turned the handle, but it was locked. He knocked on the door.  
  
Artie? Artemus, open the door.  
  
There was no answer. Grant and West exchanged a worried glance. Jim banged on the door harder.  
  
Artie, can you hear me? He turned to Grant, This door wasn't locked before.  
  
No, it wasn't.  
  
Jim threw himself at the door, bursting through it. Grant followed him with the two soldiers close behind. The freezing cold of the room assaulted them immediately. Jim pulled his jacket tightly around himself as he stared unbelievingly at the rumpled bed in front of him. It was empty, and so was the room. Artie had disappeared.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

West searched Artie's room, but found nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that Gordon wasn't in it. Grant sat in the chair in the corner, waiting for Jim to finish. Finally, West turned to the President.  
  
Not a clue of what could have happened to him. Absolutely nothing.  
  
Grant stood, Questions but no answers.  
  
The voice from the door turned their heads.  
  
What was the question, Mr. President?  
  
The two men stared unbelievingly at Artemus Gordon.  
  
Jim quickly recovered, anger propelling his voice, Where the hell have you been?  
  
Artie looked at him, confusion in his eyes, I was out for a walk...  
  
At three in the morning?  
  
Artie shrugged, moving into the room, I couldn't sleep. Needed to clear my mind, that's all. Say, what are you two doing in here and where's the bull that broke my door down?  
  
Grant smiled, You missed all the excitement, Gordon, and the bull you're looking for is right there.  
  
Artie stared at his partner, James...is there something you want to tell me?  
  
You didn't answer when I knocked... Artie's eyebrows raised, and Jim muttered, I was worried. Come on, Artie, let's get the President settled in, and we'll go take a look at the dead body in the kitchen.  
  
Dead body?  
  
Grant leaned into Gordon's ear as they walked toward the missing door, Told you you missed all the excitement.  
  
Jim and Artie deposited Grant in his room, leaving two infantrymen on watch outside the door. They began walking down the stairs, when something caught Jim's eye. He bent down, to remove a small piece of cloth that was caught on a jagged edge of the bannister. He held it so that Artie could see it.  
  
Looks like part of an Army uniform, James.  
  
Exactly. And I bet I know where it came from.  
  
Artemus followed his partner downstairs, through the lobby and into the kitchen, all the while listening to West's quick recap of the events that had transpired. An infantryman came to attention as West and Gordon walked by. Gelbhardt stood to face West as he approached the body lying on the floor by the butcher block table.  
  
Report, Captain.  
  
Private Simons, Mr. West. I can't find a mark on him.  
  
Thank you, Captain.  
  
Good night Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.  
  
Gelbhardt exited, while West and Gordon bent down to examine the body for themselves. Just as Gelbhardt stated, there were no obvious wounds on the man. Jim searched the fabric of the Simons' uniform, and as he had expected, he found a tear in the back of the man's jacket. He held the swatch of fabric to it, and the the jagged edges matched perfectly. There was no question that the torn piece came off of the uniform. They stood, and Jim noticed the pallor of his partner's skin.  
  
Artie...everything okay?  
  
Yeah, sure.  
  
West didn't buy it, but now didn't seem like the best time to try and needle Artemus for more.  
  
Jim exhaled a long sigh of air, So we know Simons was unconscious upstairs, and dragged down the staircase, but I guess we'll have to wait for an autopsy to get any clue as to what actually killed him.  
  
It's the Mohonk ghosts...they're back.  
  
The two agents turned to see Mr. O'Connell staring at the dead body, his eyes wide with fear.  
  
That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, O'Connell.  
  
The nervous clerk came closer, leaning in, It's happened before, Mr. West.  
  
Gordon frowned, What are you talking about?  
  
About a year and a half ago, a man was found dead in the kitchen, in that very spot.  
  
What was the cause?  
  
It was never determined, Mr. West.  
  
Gordon asked, Who was he, this man?  
  
Just a traveling salesman. No wife, no family. No kin at all, actually. He was buried in the old cemetery yard about half a mile up the mountain on the other side of the lake.  
  
Jim scowled, Was there a local investigation?  
  
The sheriff asked questions and interviewed staff, but never came to any conclusions.  
  
Well, thank you, Mr. O'Connell, if we need anything furth--  
  
--That was just the most recent one, Mr. West. Every year or so, the Mohonk ghost exacts revenge.  
  
Revenge for what?  
  
For being murdered.  
  
Artie took in a large sigh of air, All right, I'll bite. There's got to be some story that goes with this legend....  
  
O'Connell's eyes lit up at the opportunity to spin his tale.   
  
This place was built by Alfred and Albert Smiley in 1859. About five years later, they had a falling out, some kind of business disagreement. One night, as they were closing up the kitchen, they got into an argument, which turned into a fist fight, attracting a few remaining staff members, who tried to break it up. Albert, who always carried a weapon, shot Alfred dead, right on that very spot where this fella is...  
  
What happened to Albert afterward?  
  
He was hung, right outside the Inn, on that big elm tree.  
  
Jim stared at O'Connell for a moment, assessing the man, then he pat him on the back.  
  
Very well, Mr. O'Connell, thank you. You'd better get some rest in what little time you have left tonight.  
  
O'Connell seemed hesitant to leave, but having no other reason to stay, finally smiled at the two agents.  
  
Good night, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.  
  
Good night, Artie replied.  
  
They watched him retreat through the door, an uncomfortable air developing around them. Artie turned toward Jim.  
  
Well, that was one helluva ghost story.  
  
Jim's eyes narrowed, still staring in O'Connell's wake.  
  
I don't trust that man, Artemus. There's just something about him that doesn't seem quite right.  
  
Artie put his arm around his partner and moved him toward the door, Come on, Jim, we don't have too many hours left to sleep either.  
  
They exited the room as some infantrymen came in to clear away the body. The two privates looked at each other, shivering from the sudden chill in the air.  
  
Hurry up, Ray, this room gives me the willies....  
  
And it's dang cold, too.  
  
A creak at the other end of the kitchen, made them start. The two men exchanged a look, and without a word, they wrapped Simon in a sheet and quickly carried him out, leaving the unquiet atmosphere of the kitchen. They didn't hear the soft laughter accompanying their exit.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The day was dark, dreary and wet. Jim had little or no desire to ride into the next town where the sheriff's office was located, but he needed to see that an autopsy was performed on Simons' body; plus he had some questions for the sheriff in regard to the tall tale O'Connell had fed him the night before. Something just didn't sit right with him about that man, and West intended to find out why.   
  
His thoughts turned to his partner. Artie had been acting strangely ever since he'd arrived at Stokes Inn, and during their morning breakfast, he had been unusually quiet. Artie was troubled, Jim knew that, but he had chalked it up to the nightmares about Gordon's dead wife. But now Jim wasn't so sure. The President had experienced some kind of waking dream involving someone close to him, but there hadn't been any kind of lasting affect; Artie on the other hand, wasn't himself.  
  
Jim's thoughts were brought to the present by the crack of thunder. His horse pulled against the rein, spooked by the loud sound. He pat the animal on the neck.  
  
Settle down, boy, it's just thunder.  
  
He pressed his thighs into the horse slightly, causing the animal to speed up his pace. Jim wanted to get the interview with the sheriff over as quickly as possible and get back to Mohonk. He had an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
***********  
Artie stood behind the President's chair. The conference had continued much as the days before; the delegates couldn't agree on the terms. While the Sioux wanted an end to the bloodshed, they had no desire to be confined to specific areas of the map, and the US Government wasn't about to give way regarding the roaming of Sioux around the countryside, taking whatever they wanted. It was a frustrating impasse for all of them.  
  
Gordon shivered slightly. The chilled feeling in his bones was growing worse. He tried not to shake visibly, but it was difficult. He observed Sanborn raising the hackles of the President of the United States. You'd never know the two of them were on the same side.  
  
Mr. President, I cannot believe that you are willing to give a larger parcel of land to the Sioux. This was not what Congress agreed upon, nor authorized this delegation to do.  
  
Mr. Sanborn, in case you hadn't noticed, Congress is not here, we are, and it is up to us to strike an agreement with Iron Fist and his people. If that means we must amend our offer to gain peace, then so be it.  
  
I'm sorry, President Grant, but I can't possibly--  
  
The man was cut off when the French glass doors behind Artie blew open with a huge gust of wind. The lights in the room extinguished, causing several exclamations among the delegates. The Sioux stood, drawing knives, prepared for anything that might come. The room began to shake, and several of the windows exploded, sending glass shards spraying into the room. The chandelier above the table swayed, and started to pull away from the ceiling. Artemus moved quickly to the President, forcefully pulling him from the chair. Grant began to argue, but Gordon removed him from the room. It took Artemus only a moment to realize that the disturbance was limited to the conference room, so he quickly escorted the President upstairs, and into his own room.   
  
Grant turned in anger as soon as the door was closed, What do you think you're doing?  
  
My job, sir.  
  
Artemus locked the door to the room and pulled down all the shades on the windows. He turned toward the President.  
  
Mr. President, please stay away from the windows and the door. I'm putting one man in here with you, and leaving one outside the door. I'll be back as soon as I find out what's going on in this place. Keep the door locked, and don't let anyone in.  
  
Grant couldn't hide the annoyance in his voice, Mr. Gordon, I suggest you hurry along.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
************  
By the time Artie made his way back to the conference room, the Sioux and most of the delegates were long gone. Gordon turned toward Captain Gelbhardt.  
  
Did you see anyone?  
  
No. But this room looks like an elephant charged it.  
  
Was anyone hurt?  
  
Fortunately not. My men are searching the grounds now, and I've posted guards in all the hallways. No one is going to come in or out of this place without us knowing about it, Mr. Gordon.  
  
Fine, fine.  
  
Gelbhardt noted how pale the agent looked, but refrained from commenting.   
  
When is Mr. West due back, sir?  
  
Artie seemed preoccupied,   
  
Mr. West, sir, when is he coming back?  
  
Soon, I'm sure. You're dismissed for now, Captain, I'm going to take a closer look at the damage in here.  
  
Yes sir. I'll be just out in the hall if you need me.  
  
But Gordon didn't answer, he was already caught up in something that Gelbhardt didn't comprehend. Quietly, the captain went out into the hall. Artie surveyed the demolished contents of the room. Parts of the plaster had fallen away, and most of the windows were smashed. The paintings in the room had all shaken loose from the walls, and were strewn about the floor. A couple of the ceiling beams were down, one of them having crushed the very chair that the President had been sitting in. A chill ran through him, causing him to shiver. The uncomfortable feeling that he was not alone overwhelmed him; he had to get out of the room.  
  
Gelbhardt was slightly surprised when Gordon bolted out of the conference room, looking as though he'd been given the fright of his life. He steadied the agent with a hand on his arm.  
  
Mr. Gordon, are you all right?  
  
Artie tried to catch his breath, Yes, of course, I'm fine. Gordon pulled away from Gelbhardt's grip, I'm going to begin interviewing the staff. Be sure that the President's room is well covered, and let me know the minute Jim West gets back.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Artie walked quickly down the hall, through a door, and into a dim, unused corridor. He knocked on one of the doors. It opened, and O'Connell stared at Artemus for a moment, a small smile pulling at the corners of this mouth.  
  
Come in, Mr. Gordon, I've been expecting you.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Mr. West, I've already told you, other than the man who died up at the Stokes Inn a year and a half ago, I don't know of any other mysterious deaths in the hotel.  
  
What about the Smiley brothers?  
  
The large man paced in front of his desk, You'll have to check into the death records at the old church, Mr. West, I wasn't here then.  
  
Fine. I'll expect the results of the autopsy by Dr. Stanley sent up to me at the Inn as soon as you have them. Good day, sheriff.  
  
Mr. West...?  
  
  
  
Look, I don't know of any other strange deaths up there, but there's been plenty of talk about strange goings on.  
  
Like what?  
  
Doors slamming, rooms being destroyed by wind, weird laughter in the middle of the night, and...  
  
  
  
And some members of the kitchen staff say they've seen something.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sheriff, I'm kinda short on time, so...  
  
They think it's one of the Smiley brothers.  
  
I thought they were both dead.  
  
They are.  
  
***********  
Artie was exhausted. He had interviewed every staff member he could find, and no one had seen a thing. There were a few reports of ghostly laughter and doors slamming, but Artie chalked it up to the chamber maids having nothing better to do. He tapped lightly on the President's door, and momentarily it opened. Artemus didn't disguise his annoyance.  
  
I thought I told you not to open this door.  
  
You told me not to let anyone in, and I have no intention of letting you in here.  
  
Artie rolled his eyes, pushed gently past Grant, and turned to the guard.  
  
Private, you should have opened the door, not the President.  
  
Yes sir, I'm sorry sir.  
  
Artie glared at him, to make sure he understood the transgression, then he let the man off the hook.  
  
You're dismissed. Stay outside with the other guard.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Artie closed the door behind him, and followed the President into the room. Grant looked at Gordon, and frowned; the agent looked overly tired.  
  
You look like you could use a drink, Gordon....  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Grant poured two shots of cognac and handed one to the agent.   
  
Cognac, sir? You're usually a bourbon or whiskey man...  
  
The whiskey here doesn't agree with me. I haven't had any of it since that first night. Grant sat down and pointed to the chair next to him, Sit down for a minute.  
  
Artemus obliged, sensing that Grant wanted conversation. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
Have you had any more....dreams?  
  
Artie took an uneven breath,   
  
For such a talented actor, Gordon, you're a terrible liar.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
An awkward silence surrounded them for a few minutes, then Artemus spoke again.  
  
Have you had any more..._dreams_, Mr. President?  
  
Not since that first night, no.  
  
They both felt terribly uncomfortable, and Artie decided to change the subject.  
  
Mr. O'Connell has assured me that they will have the dining room prepared for the continuation of the peace talks tomorrow morning, Mr. President.  
  
Very well. It's not as conducive a room for our purposes, but we'll make it work.  
  
Yes sir. I'll see to the security preparations then.  
  
Gordon stood, setting the glass down on the table. Grant noticed the unsteady tremor of the man's hands. He stood, walking with Artie toward the door, stopping him before he could open it.  
  
You're certain you're all right...  
  
Artemus frowned, Of course, sir. Why wouldn't I be?  
  
Without waiting for an answer, Artie slipped out the door, closing it gently behind him. Grant stood still for a moment in the wake of his exit.  
  
Why wouldn't you be indeed...  
  
***********  
It was growing dark by the time Jim was nearing the Inn. His horse galloped up the trail, and the eerie feeling of being watched sent the hairs on the back of West's neck straight on end. He spurred the horse to move faster, but upon turning the next ridge, he realized it didn't matter: several men on horseback were waiting for him. Jim slowed his horse and was about to address them, when a man from the ridge above, jumped him, knocking him off his mount. West grabbed the man as he regained his footing, and punched him hard in the jaw. The other men jumped off their horses, and came at him.  
  
Jim grabbed the first burly man and sent a fist into his stomach, followed by an upper cut to his chin. He shoved the man over the ridge, sending him tumbling down the side. Two men grabbed Jim hard from behind, and he threw the one on his right quickly away, and sent a right cross to the cheekbone of the one on his left. Another man rushed him, sending him into the side of the rocks, his head connecting painfully with a jagged one. Slightly dazed, Jim shook his head, and the man punched his jaw, sending him hard to the dirt. West grabbed the man's ankle, toppling him to the ground. The agent pounced on him, but was soon out numbered as the other men recovered and moved in on him.  
  
The sound of Lakota calls and shots being fired filled the air. The men pulled Jim to his feet, and saw that the Sioux were almost on top of them. The man holding West, punched him hard in the stomach, sending Jim to his knees, and they made a break for their horses before the Sioux could reach them. Several braves gave chase off into the night, screaming a battle cry as they disappeared. Strong hands pulled Jim to his feet, and he stared into the concerned eyes of Iron Fist.  
  
Are you injured?  
  
Not permanently, no.  
  
Iron Fist nodded to Cantetekiya, who came forward and gave West the once over just the same.  
  
His head is hard. The blow did not damage him.  
  
Jim tried to stifle his smile over the comment about his hard head. He was glad Artie hadn't witnessed it, or he'd never hear the end of it.  
  
Iron Fist, I'm grateful for your help... But if I may ask, what are you doing out here? The afternoon conference session should just be ending.  
  
You have not spoken with your partner....Earlier the disturbed spirits of Mohonk made themselves heard.  
  
What do you mean made themselves heard?'  
  
A wind from beyond blew through the room, destroying much of it.  
  
Is the President--  
  
--Your President is fine. No one was injured.  
  
Jim jumped on his horse, and looked again at Iron Fist.  
  
I owe you a debt, Iron Fist.  
  
Iron First nodded and watched West ride at breakneck speed toward the Inn.  
  
I hope he can protect himself from what he finds.  
  
The shaman looked at the chief, He does not believe.  
  
No, he does not. But disbelief does not lessen the danger.  
  
***********  
Artie opened the now repaired door to his room, and closed it quickly, leaning into it for support. He shivered against the cold that hit him, and walked over toward the table near the window. He spotted a new bottle of whiskey sitting there, with a note:  
  
_Mr. Gordon:  
  
Your attendant informed me that you finished the bottle I gave you upon your arrival, so I thought you could use a replacement.  
  
O'Connell  
  
_Artie smiled; he could use a belt or two of something warm. He poured himself a generous shot of whiskey, tossed his hat on the table, his gun belt on the arm of the chair, and collapsed in a seat. He was reasonably sure that he had handled any security questions for continuing the peace talks in the hotel dining room, although when Jim got back, he'd run it all past him. A slight frown came over Artie's face: _Jim_. Where the hell was he?  
  
The knock at his door almost made him jump.  
  
Yeah, come on in.  
  
The door opened, and West walked in.  
  
I was wondering what in the hell had happ-- Artie took a good look at his partner; the ripped clothing and the blood on his face. Well James, there's another Sunday-go-to-meetin' suit you've ruined.  
  
Some men tried to bushwhack me on my way back here.  
  
From the looks of you, James, bushwhackers one, Secret Service, zero.  
  
If it hadn't been for Iron Fist showing up with reinforcements, you'd be wiring Washington for a new partner.  
  
Jim tossed his hat on the table with Artie's and sat down in the chair across from him. Artemus sat up when he saw just how beat-up his partner really was.  
  
Hey, maybe we should have that looked at...  
  
I'm fine.  
  
Artie stood and pulled some ice out of the bucket on the table, which Jim noticed wasn't the least bit melted. His partner wrapped it in a towel, and gently put it over the cut above Jim's eye. West grimaced in pain, and Artie took some of the pressure off.  
  
I'm sorry, Jim.  
  
It's okay.  
  
Listen, you hold this on there, and I'll pour you a whiskey.  
  
Jim shivered slightly as he stood, No, don't. I should really go take a look at the conference room. I hear you had a little party in there earlier.  
  
Yeah, but the hosts forgot the champagne. Jim started for the door, and Artie said, You want me to go with you?  
  
No thanks, Artie. You look a little tired. Besides, I'm just going to give it a quick once over, then I think I'll go to bed.  
  
Hey - what did you find out from the sheriff?  
  
Not much. The church records were far more helpful. Albert and Alfred Smiley really did die as a result of an argument; Alfred by gunshot wound, and Albert by hanging. However, there are no other records of deaths in this Inn, except for the salesman a year and a half ago.  
  
So O'Connell expounded on his little story, eh? Jim nodded and Artie continued, Looks like your instincts were right about him.  
  
Jim smiled, Get some sleep Artie, it's going to be another long day tomorrow.   
  
Yeah, I supposed you're right.  
  
Artemus drained the glass and poured another.  
  
And Artie, take it easy on that stuff, will ya?  
  
Gordon shrugged and Jim walked out the door, closing it behind him. Whether because he needed it, or he just wanted to be defiant, Artemus downed the shot he was holding and poured one more. It was damned cold in his room...


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The thud jarred him awake quickly. But he couldn't tell if it was the sound of someone dropping a heavy item, or a door slamming. He rolled over onto his side, listening in the dark. He thought he heard footsteps, but when he sat up, they were gone. Jim let out a long sigh of air; there was no such thing as a normal night in the Smiley brother's Inn. He reached back for his gun, which was holstered and hanging from the bed post. It was ready to go. The wind outside picked up and howled against the window panes. It was only a matter of time before a storm moved in on them.   
  
Jim rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The noise of scratching against glass made him start, but he realized it was a branch brushing against the window. He let out a long sigh of air. This place could make anybody jumpy after awhile. He began reviewing the security parameters of the dining room in his mind. He hated all the windows, but that was no worse than the conference room. The difference was in the outside approach. The conference room could be protected more effectively with men stationed along the path, and on the portico. The dining room had a large lawn in front of the windows, completely open to attack. Neither here nor there, the dining room it was going to be.  
  
The sound of a door closing and footsteps right out in the hall interrupted his thoughts. He listened carefully: the steps had a familiar cadence. Jim sat up. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled his shirt on, and buckled his gun belt around his waist. Whatever was going on in the hotel, he was going to get to the bottom of it.   
  
No sooner did his hand turn the doorknob, the sound of a scream echoed throughout the Inn.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Jim bolted from his room, but as had been the case in the past, he couldn't tell from where the sound had emanated. His mind raced for answers, and Jim West realized that the scream sounded almost _inhuman_. It hadn't resembled a man's voice, nor a woman's. A sleepy-eyed Grant appeared in his doorway.  
  
  
  
Mr. President, sir, please stay in your room, and lock the door. He turned to the infantrymen, Private, you go inside with him, and corporal, you stay out here.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Grant didn't argue, but instead stepped back inside, followed by the private. Jim turned to Artie's door, and knocked.  
  
  
  
As he expected, there was no answer. Jim tried the door, but to no avail; it was locked. He could hear a building commotion coming from the floor above him. West turned and quickly mounted the stairs. He was greeted by several delegates in differing states of undress, standing in front of one door in the third floor hallway, which was closed. West parted them, and tried the door, it was bolted from the inside. Gelbhardt came to stand next to him. West looked at the captain, and together they rammed the door open. As soon as West caught sight of what awaited them, he pulled the door to, and turned to Gelbhardt.  
  
Captain, keep everyone out here. Let no one inside. And I mean no one.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
West entered the room, closing the door behind him. Not much was out of place in the room, there had been no struggle. It was clear that Sanborn never had much of a chance. The body was lying face down in the middle of the floor, about halfway between the bed and the door. The arrow in his back, with its decorative color scheme of red, white, yellow, blue and brown, left little doubt that it was of Sioux origin. The commotion outside the door pulled West's attention from the dead body before him.  
  
If you don't let me by, Captain, before the night's out, you're going to find yourself busted back to corporal.  
  
His partner sounded particularly out-of-sorts. Artie almost never tried to strong arm people into anything. He preferred coaxing them gently.  
  
I'm sorry, Mr. Gordon, Gelbhardt replied, but Mr. West said no one was to enter.  
  
Gordon's voice held barely contained anger, Well he didn't mean me.  
  
Jim opened the door slightly, Captain, Mr. Gordon's all right, thanks.  
  
Gelbhardt stood aside, and Gordon moved past. West closed the door, and Artie stopped short when he saw the body.  
  
Nice party you're having here, James, but the doorman is terribly rude.  
  
Jim ignored the attempt at humor, his voice flat, You're late.  
  
And I showed up empty handed. What can I say? I'm a terrible guest.  
  
Where were you?  
  
What do you mean?  
  
I knocked on your door, you didn't answer, and it was locked.  
  
I was asleep.  
  
You slept through all that noise?  
  
What noise?  
  
Jim looked at his partner; his answer had been sincere. Gordon stood with his arms pulled tightly across his chest, as if he was only barely able to keep from shivering. The dark circles under Artie's brown eyes had grown deeper and more severe, and his pallor was only slightly better than Sanborn's. A wave of concer washed over West, but for now, he needed to set it aside. Jim moved toward the body of Sanborn, and knelt down. Artie followed suit, kneeling next to West.  
  
Well, one thing's for sure, Gordon said, judging by the colors on that arrow, we know who do it.  
  
Jim said nothing as he stood. He looked over toward the small table by the only window in the room, observing the empty glass and the half empty bottle of whiskey. West walked over to the window, checking it; it was locked from the inside. He turned to his partner.  
  
Artie, help me with the body.  
  
Artie's eyebrows shot up, Help you do what with it?  
  
Let's put him in the closet for now, and later we can--  
  
--the closet...Jim, have you gone mad? Why would we want to do that?  
  
Because whomever shot him expects him to be dead...  
  
Artie frowned, I hate to break it to you, James, but, he is.  
  
You know that, and I know that--  
  
Artie nodded, --but no one else knows that. Smart. But won't they notice when he doesn't show up tomorrow morning?  
  
Jim smiled as he put Sanborn's hat on Artie's head.  
  
Oh no, no, no. Jim, we're shorthanded as it is, and I'm not--  
  
--Now come on Artie, you love a good costume.  
  
Artie just shook his head; this one was a losing battle and he knew it. Working together, they removed the arrow from Sanborn, and were getting ready to stuff the body into the closet, when there was another altercation outside the door.  
  
You had jolly well better stand aside, Captain Gelbhardt. I'll have you know that I am this hotel's representative, and I demand--  
  
The door swung open, and West smiled at O'Connell, Is there something I can do for you, Mr. O'Connell?  
  
Yes. I demand to know what is going on in Mr. Sanborn's room.  
  
Absolutely nothing, Mr. O'Connell. See for yourself.  
  
O'Connell peered past West and saw Sanborn sitting at the table, his back to the door. Gordon was sitting opposite him, the two of them drinking. O'Connell started into the room, but West stopped him.  
  
I'm sorry Mr. O'Connell, but they'll be no discussions tonight. My partner and I are interviewing him.  
  
Interviewing him?  
  
Yes. You seem surprised by that, Mr. O'Connell, is something wrong?  
  
No, not at all, the man smiled, I'm just surprised that you would be doing something like that so late. It is late, Mr. West.  
  
Yes, well, he's the only one who saw the shooter.  
  
  
  
Yes. Someone tried to kill him tonight.  
  
I didn't hear any gun shots.  
  
West looked hard at the man, That's right, Mr. O'Connell, there were no gun shots. Now, good night. Jim turned to Gelbhardt, Captain, clear the hallway please.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
West closed the door, turning back toward his partner, who was downing a glass of whiskey.  
  
  
  
I'm cold.  
  
West frowned at his partner, How can you be cold in long johns like that, Artie...   
  
Gordon shrugged, You sure know how to ruin a guy's evening. Let's just get this body stowed somewhere. I'm tired.  
  
We'll wrap him in a sheet, and as soon as the hallways are clear, we'll take him down to the ice room in the basement.  
  
That's one way to put a freeze on his social life...  
  
Tomorrow, you make your debut as Sanborn, and we watch what happens.  
  
Yeah, just make sure you're watching out for my neck.  
  
I wouldn't let anybody harm a hair on your head, Artie.  
  
Artie glared at his partner, as he absently poured another glass of whiskey.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Jim stood behind the President's chair in the dining room, watching. He had carefully scrutinized the delegates when they first entered the room, looking for any signs of surprise regarding Sanborn's presence; but there was nothing. They were well into the day's discussions, when Jim had to keep the grin from curling his lips as made his case. He had to admit, Artie did a pretty credible imitation of the man's voice and mannerisms.  
  
My dear General Sherman, I believe it to be in everyone's interest that we find a compromise to this situation--  
  
--Your tune has certainly changed, Sanborn.  
  
Sanborn smiled as his raspy voice continued, I did have a rather sudden change of.....heart last night. Iron Fist, what are the things you are not willing to give up in a treaty? Those things that you believe would be the end of the Sioux nation if they were lost.  
  
Iron Fist turned toward Sanborn, Sioux must have the right to live as hunters. That cannot change. We must have land that is ours, to hunt, fish, and live as we please. Live under Sioux law, not the white man's.  
  
Grant interjected, But there can be only one law of the land if the United States is to flourish.  
  
Iron Fist looked over at Grant, We will not break any white laws on the white man's land.  
  
Grant shook his head, Iron Fist, no leader can guarantee that all of his people will abide by such a thing; this is why it is imperative to have a united land, people, and law.  
  
Stands to the Sun spoke, agitation coloring his voice, White man's land, people, and law, not ours.  
  
Sanborn interrupted the interchange, Stands to the Sun, the United States Government recognizes the rights of the Sioux, and all the Indian nations to live in freedom, following their own beliefs; but the President is correct in pointing out that there cannot be different laws. Such a policy would lead to chaos and anarchy. We would continue to wage war against each other.  
  
Iron Fist spoke, So what is the answer?  
  
Jim kept a sharp eye on all the players in the room as Artie negotiated with Iron Fist. Aside from the occasional objection from Sherman or Taylor, there was no sign of animosity at the move toward a treaty. It didn't make sense. Someone, or a group of someones, had killed Private Simon, Sanborn, and was most likely responsible for the destruction of the conference room; and yet, no one in the room showed any signs of surprise regarding Sanborn's appearance. And what of the odd happenings that had spooked not only President Grant, but also Artemus? Jim shook his head, the puzzle was far from solved.  
  
Sanborn stood, annoyance gripping him, Stands to the Sun, you can't expect the government to sign a treaty whereby the Sioux have changed nothing about their ways. The compromise must come from both sides.  
  
Iron Fist responded, There is value in your words, but Stands to the Sun speaks from experience. We have heard much peace talk from the government, but we have not seen peace.  
  
A slightly perplexed expression came over Artie's face. There was raw truth in the statement; a truth that made Artie uncomfortable. Jim watched his partner thinking. He could see the wheels spinning quickly through Gordon's mind, looking for a reasonable explanation. The brown eyes took on a slightly sad countenance.  
  
In the past, Iron Fist, that might have been true. And that is why we are all here now: to find a way to coexist.  
  
Grant held up his hand, I'm afraid, gentlemen, that it might behoove us at this moment, to take a break. Perhaps we can resume following dinner? There were nods of ascension, so Grant continued, Fine then. Let's pick this up in an hour's time.  
  
Jim followed closely behind the President as he walked out the door, and quickly up the stairs. Once inside Grant's room, Jim watched him nervously pacing.  
  
Mr. President, what's wrong?  
  
  
  
What about him?  
  
The man has made a 180 degree turn on his positions since yesterday. I don't like it.  
  
But Mr. President, he's taken your side.  
  
Exactly, West....but why?  
  
Jim smiled, Relax, sir, it's Artie.  
  
Grant turned sharply,   
  
It's Artemus.  
  
Oh for the love of-- Grant paced some more, What are the two of you up to, and where is the real Sanborn?  
  
I didn't want to alarm you, sir--  
  
--Alarm me? How much worse is this all going to get?  
  
Sanborn was killed last night.  
  
Killed by whom? How?  
  
The how' was by a gun shot wound. The who' is still a mystery.  
  
Dare I ask what you two did with the body?  
  
You're better off not knowing things like that, Mr. President.  
  
Grant glared at West, as he quickly poured himself a drink. Jim headed toward the door.  
  
I'll be back in time to escort you downstairs, sir.  
  
  
  
Jim took one more look at Grant, who seemed shaken by the news of Sanborn, and then West walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.  
  
***********  
O'Connell made his way silently down the long corridor. He stopped in front of a large John Trumbull painting of James Monroe. Looking around, to be sure no one was watching, O'Connell turned a sconce on the wall to the right. A latch released on the painting, and O'Connell opened it like the a door. With one more look around, he stepped inside, pulling the painting back to the wall. Once he heard the tiny click of the latch sliding home, he moved quickly down the hidden corridor. He had work to do, and very little time in which to do it.  
  
***********  
Jim knocked on the door to Sanborn's room, but there was no answer. Where the hell was Artie? As he turned away, heading toward the stairs, he heard the muffled cry. West leaned his ear into the door, and heard his partner in distress. He pounded on the wood.  
  
Artie! Artie!  
  
As the sounds of anguish grew louder, Jim didn't waste time. He leaned hard into the door, forcing it open. West fell into the room, paralyzed by the sight that greeted him: his partner was cowered in the corner, his knees to his chest, and his head leaning on his arms. Jim closed the door, and walked cautiously toward Gordon. West wasn't sure that Artie was awake. He knelt down next to Gordon, gently touching his partner's arm.  
  
Artie? Hey buddy.....  
  
Gordon flinched at the touch, pulling closer into the wall, and away from Jim. West tried to take him by the arms, but his partner struggled against him. Jim spoke to Gordon in soft tones.  
  
Artie, wake up, come on pal.  
  
General, please, let me go...  
  
Jim frowned, Artemus, it's me, it's Jim. Wake up...  
  
West gripped his partner's arms, shaking him, and momentarily, Artie's eyes snapped open wildly. He stared at Jim without seeing him, but then slowly the sea of brown focused, and calm began to return. Gordon let out a long sigh, leaning his head against the wall.  
  
Jim's eyes flashed concern, You okay?  
  
Artie nodded, once again sighing unevenly, and Jim gave him a minute to calm himself. Then, the older agent gripped West's hands, and Jim pulled him to his feet, quickly guiding him into the nearest chair. West softly squeezed Gordon's shoulder, then sat in another chair quite close. Jim leaned in toward his partner, watching intently as Artie poured himself a drink.  
  
What happened?  
  
Artie sipped from the glass, I don't know exactly. I was terribly tired and came up here to lie down.  
  
And then?  
  
Gordon shook his head, Then nothing. The last thing I remember was lying down on the bed.  
  
Artie, you seemed to be in great distress when I got here. You were begging some general to let you go... And when I woke you up, you looked at me like you didn't know who I was.  
  
Artemus stared down into his glass at the amber liquid before he swirled it, and downed the contents of the glass in one large shot. Then he looked up at his partner.  
  
It was just a bad dream, Jim.  
  
West noticed that Artie's hands were shaking. Gordon realized it a moment later, and their eyes locked. Jim's were glistening with worry, and the brown ones looking back at him were soft and filled with sadness.  
  
You were reliving the night she died, weren't you?  
  
Artie swallowed hard, H-how did you....?  
  
The President is concerned about you. Jim placed a soft hand on Artie's forearm, So am I.  
  
Artemus nodded, I know that. He looked up at West, I'm fine, Jim, really...  
  
Yeah, yeah sure. West stood, Are you going to be up to attending the evening session?  
  
Of course. I'm just going to sit here for awhile.  
  
Jim watched as Artie poured himself another drink, Take it easy on that stuff, will you?  
  
I can handle it.  
  
West placed a gentle hand on Artie's shoulder, You've been overdoing it a little lately, Artie. Just go easy.  
  
Gordon watched West close the door, and he looked down into the glass, frowning. Maybe Jim was right; he had been drinking a lot more since they had arrived at the Inn. He set the glass on the table, and stared out the window, pulling his arms across his chest. He felt unsettled, clouded, and so very tired. It had been too long since he had had a good night's sleep. A sleep free of dreams; free of his guilt; free of her. Artie shivered slightly, realizing that his stomach felt nauseous.   
  
The branches on the trees outside were bending with the wind. The air had kicked up, blowing the fall leaves that were beginning to turn through the air. At another point in time, it might have been beautiful.


	20. Chapter Twenty

It was well past 10:30, the evening meeting of the peace conference having dragged on for more than four hours. Jim maintained a close watch on his partner. Even under all the make-up, he could see the ever increasing pallor of Artie's face, and try though he did, the older agent couldn't hide the tremor in his hands, nor his shivering.   
  
Nathaniel Taylor's voice droned on, I want peace, Mr. President, Iron Fist... but I don't believe in peace at any price. The Sioux must agree to live under the same law as every other citizen of the United States, or this pact won't work.  
  
Stands to the Sun retorted, The White man's law is not for the Sioux. We will live on our land, our way.  
  
Don't you see that such a thing is counterproductive? Taylor's voice became gritty, If the whites and the Indians are going to live in peace, they must do so under the same law.  
  
Stands to the Sun stood violently, No! We cannot. Iron Fist--  
  
Sanborn spoke up, --Perhaps the Sioux would prefer living in violence and death.  
  
Iron Fist reponsded, No, we would not.  
  
Sanborn continued, Then I suggest we stay with the task at hand....although Taylor, you might want to lighten your touch a little.  
  
Taylor glared at Sanborn, and for a moment, Jim wasn't sure if there might be some fireworks, but Taylor backed down. Artie looked terrible; the make-up wasn't doing anything to cover up his waning color. Grant glanced over at Artemus, then at West. The worry on Jim's face wasn't lost on the President. He looked at his watch, and then cleared his throat.  
  
I think, gentlemen, that we've had a long enough day. Let's take this up again in the morning.  
  
Grant stood, followed by the rest of the delegates. With one more glance in Artie's direction, Jim got in step behind the President, and the two of them headed upstairs.  
  
He doesn't look good.  
  
Jim's voice was soft, No, he doesn't.  
  
Look, I'll be fine getting to my--  
  
--All due respect, Mr. President, but I'll see you to your room, and then I'll check in on Artemus.  
  
Grant sighed, but said nothing. West walked the President to his room, opened the door, checked inside, then nodding at the guard, headed upstairs to Sanborn's room. He knocked on the door, but there was no response. He didn't bother knocking again, but simply tried the door, which was unlocked. West entered, to find the room empty. He went downstairs to the bar that was on the first floor, and while he found some delegates, there was no sign of his partner. Jim headed up to Gordon's room, on the chance that he might have gone there, and sure enough, after a few knocks, the door opened, revealing an unsteady Artemus.  
  
Hey buddy, you look awful....  
  
Yeah, it feels about as good as it looks.  
  
Artie couldn't control his shivering, and Jim moved him into the room, watching as Artemus sat down in the nearest chair, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. West moved to the bed and pulled off the blanket, wrapping it around his partner's shoulders.  
  
I'm going into town to get a doctor. You just sit tight, okay?  
  
Artie nodded, his teeth chattering, Y-yeah....sure, pal...  
  
The door closed behind Jim, and Gordon poured himself a drink, his hand shaking the glass all the way to his mouth.  
  
***********  
Jim rode hard into town, he didn't like leaving Artie alone. It was long after midnight by the time he found the doctor, roused him from his sleep, and the two of them were making their way back to the Inn. He just hoped that Artie was holding his own.  
  
***********  
He couldn't tell if the voices were in his head, or in the room with him. But they wouldn't stop. He couldn't ignore them any more. He picked up his gun, and walked out of the room.  
  
***********  
As the two horses rode up, Jim heard the shot. He jumped off his mount and ran into the lobby, glancing around to see the direction people were looking in: upstairs. Two more pops filled the air, and Jim took the stairs three at a time until he was on the third floor. A crowd of delegates had gathered outside of Nathaniel Taylor's room. Three more shots rang out as West ran to the room, slamming his shoulder against it.  
  
Jim stopped short, his heart frozen in mid-beat.  
  
Nathaniel Taylor was lying on the floor, blood seeping out from several bullet holes. He was quite dead. Standing two feet away, at point blank range, holding a still smoldering gun, was Artemus.  



	21. Chapter 21

Jim stood dumbfounded for a moment, until the pistol dropped from his partner's hand, thudding on the floor, but before he could step toward him, Gordon collapsed, his hand holding his stomach. It wasn't until West knelt next to Artemus that he realized the man had been shot.

"Captain Gelbhardt!"

The man stepped past the threshold. "Mr. West?"

"There's a doctor downstairs waiting for me, bring him up here, and hurry, Mr. Gordon's been shot!"

"Yes sir." The officer turned quickly to one of his men, "Johnson, fetch the doctor in the lobby, on the double!"

"Yes sir!"

West pulled Artemus into his lap, holding him tightly. "Just lie easy, buddy, the doctor's on his way."

Artie nodded, his face growing a shade whiter with every passing moment. Jim gently removed his partner's hand and inspected the bullet wound; he frowned as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, placing it over the wound, pressing down slightly to try and slow the blood flow. Gordon cried out in pain.

"Easy, Artie." Jim soothingly stroked Gordon's forehead, his voice soft, "Just hang on for me."

A small man with spectacles pushed past the nosy spectators at the door, a black bag in his right hand. "Captain," he addressed Gelbhardt, "please keep this door closed."

Gelbhardt frowned at the little man as he brushed past and into the room, but complied anyway. As the door to the room gently closed, the doctor knelt next to Gordon and inspected the wound. After a minute or so ticked by and he said nothing, West grew impatient.

"Dr. Morrow?"

The small man looked at him over his silver-rimmed glasses, his voice surprisingly deep for a man of his stature. "It's not good, Mr. West. It's not good at all." The doctor stood, gathering his bag. "I need him over here on the bed, and I'll need a boiling pot of water, a basin of alcohol, and I'll need you to assist."

As West carefully gathered his partner in his arms, he answered, "I'll help you, doctor."

"As will I."

Neither of them had heard the door open and close, nor did they witness the silent entrance of the President of the United States.

"Mr. President," West chastised as he gently placed Artie on the bed, "you shouldn't be here."

Morrow stared at the man filling the entryway, and then added, "Well I for one, don't mind having the extra pair of hands. I assume you saw many such wounds in battle, sir."

"I'm afraid so, doctor."

"Then you're familiar with the procedures." He turned to glare at Jim. "See to the boiling pot of water and a basin for some alcohol, Mr. West."

Before West could object, Grant had moved past him, removing his own jacket and rolling up his sleeves. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. When Grant finally spoke, West recognized the immovable steel in his tone.

"You're not going to order me back to my room, James, so you might as well let me be of some assistance."

"Yes Mr. President."

The weak voice called for West. "Jim?"

The agent sat on the edge of the bed, taking the outstretched hand in his own. "Here, Artie."

"Need to tell you..."

"Not now, Artie. We can talk later. The doctor needs to take that bullet out."

Gordon shook his head slightly. "Now, Jim." Their eyes locked and suddenly both Morrow and Grant felt superfluous in the room, like intruders entering a private realm. Morrow busied himself with arranging his instruments, bandages and the like, while Grant simply looked at the floor.

"Artie, please let the doctor--"

"--I didn't shoot him, Jim.

West squeezed the hand in his own tightly. "I know you didn't, buddy. Taylor was facing the window when he fell, and was hit in the chest and belly; you were facing the same way, and also were hit in the belly. The assailant went out the window, didn't he?"

Artie nodded, breath becoming harder to draw. "O'Connell...I got off a few shots...don't know if I hit him."

"I'll get him, Artie, don't you worry."

Gordon shook his head. "O'Connell drugged the booze...all a hoax."

"Couldn't be," Grant broke in then, "no one could have known about such personal histories."

Artie swallowed hard, his mouth dryer than cotton. "Access to military records--"

"--but that would require--"

"--the highest clearance in the calvary, Mr. President," West finished.

Grant stared into West's bright eyes for a moment. "There are only three men in the calvary who could access records that sensitive: Sherman, Harney and Taylor." The President glanced over at the body still lying on the floor, then back at West. "I guess we know it wasn't Taylor."

"On the contrary, Mr. President, I think General Taylor was involved, but I don't think he acted alone. I think one or more of the Sioux might be tied up in this." Jim looked into the deep brown eyes of his Artemus Gordon. "I believe there has been an attempted coup d'etat, Mr. President." Artie nodded, and Jim continued, "But that brings up the questions of why and who is ultimately behind it."

"If Taylor had help, it had to have been either General Sherman, or General Harney."

West's eyebrows furrowed, thinking. "Or someone completely on the outside..."

Dr. Morrow approached the bed then, holding a bottle of ether and a mask. "Mr. West, this man can't wait any longer, I need to get that bullet out; he's lost a lot of blood already."

Jim pat the weakening hand in his own, then set it on the bed. "I'll be right here, Artie."

Gordon shook his head. "Now, Jim. The President is at...great...risk...until you do."

Artie's eyes fluttered closed, and Jim swallowed hard. He turned to look at Grant, who simply nodded.

"Go. The doctor and I can handle this," he looked at Morrow, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. The President responded, "Many was the time I assisted on the battlefield, doctor, I assure you I have steady hands and a strong constitution."

Morrow pulled his stethoscope from his bag. "You're going to need them, Mr. President."

Jim's voice wavered slightly with emotion, as he walked by Grant, "Don't let anything..."

Grant grasped West's shoulder tightly. "I won't, Jim." The two men stared into each other's eyes. "I promise I won't." He looked into the determined light eyes. "You have someone in mind."

"There's only one man I know, Mr. President, who could have orchestrated all of this, and I'm betting that Mr. O'Connell knows where I can find him."

With one more look at the pale man on the bed, West put his hat on his head and walked out the door. Morrow looked over at the President of the United States as he placed the ether-doused mask over Gordon's mouth and nose.

"I didn't vote for you, Mr. President." Grant cocked his head in the man's direction as he continued, "I didn't trust that you were a man of your word when you made so many campaign promises."

Grant glared at the diminutive man. "I've never broken a promise yet, Dr. Morrow, I don't intend to start now."

The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Gordon's chances aren't very good, sir; you shouldn't have promised Mr. West..."

Grant's eyes narrowed as they always did when his ire was riled. "Agents West and Gordon are like sons to me, Dr. Morrow. Gordon fought by my side through the toughest battles of the war; we went through hell together. I'll be damned if I give up on him now, so you just get busy saving his life, because I'm not accepting any other outcome." The President stared intensely into Morrow's eyes. "And you have my word on that, doctor."

Without another word, Morrow ripped open Gordon's shirt, poured alcohol over the wound, and picked up his scalpel. Grant stood by the instruments, ready to hand the doctor whatever he required. But his mind was busy praying that Artemus Gordon would still be alive in the morning.


	22. Chapter 22

Jim had searched all over the hotel and the grounds, but hadn't found O'Connell; the man must have taken off immediately following the shooting. West swallowed hard, wondering how his partner was faring. As he passed through the lobby, he glanced at the wall clock; it was just past five in the morning. He looked up the staircase, and for a moment toyed with checking on Artie. But the President was with him, and Jim knew that everything that could be done, was being done. He pursed his lips, thinking. Then with a purpose in mind, Jim West headed out the door and got back on his horse. He didn't know where O'Connell had disappeared to, but he sure as hell knew where the Sioux were...

* * *

Morrow gently set Gordon's wrist down on the bed, shaking his head at the man's weakened pulse. 

"Doctor?"

He turned to face Grant. "Well Mr. President, we've done all we can. It's up to him now."

Grant nodded and softly sat on the edge of the bed, wetting the cloth in the basin on the table. He ran it over Gordon's face which was bathed in sweat, eliciting a moan from Artie.

"Easy now, Artemus..."

"Mr. President..."

Grant brushed his hand tenderly over Gordon's brow. "Shhh, just rest, son."

"You...shouldn't be here...not safe."

"I don't want you to worry about anything, Artemus. The calvary's everywhere, I'll be fine here; besides, I promised West I wouldn't leave you."

"Where is Jim?"

"Looking for the man who shot you."

Gordon swallowed hard. "So hot in here..."

Frowning, Grant dunked the cloth in the cold water and pressed it to Artie's forehead. "Stop fighting so hard, my boy, close your eyes and rest."

Through gritted teeth, Gordon said, "Hurts like hell, Sim."

Artie hadn't used the former general's nickname since the war, and it sent a lump into the President's throat. Grant turned toward Morrow, who was hovering at the foot of the bed. "Isn't there anything you can give him for the pain?"

The doctor shook his head. "Too risky in his current condition. Anything that might depress his circulatory system would be a mistake. I'm sorry, Mr. President, but he's just going to have to ride it out."

The President looked back down at Gordon, taking Artie's hand gently in his own. "Please try and rest, Artemus." The pain-filled brown eyes looked up at him, and Grant could barely stand to meet them. He held Artie's hand tightly and softly stroked his dark hair with the other. "Close your eyes, son. Go to sleep for me." Gordon whimpered softly from the burning in his belly, and Grant felt his eyes sting with moisture. "Just hang on, son. You just hang on, Artemus."

Gordon once again fell unconscious, and Grant took a long breath of air. The comforting hand on his shoulder surprised him slightly.

"He's a fighter, Mr. President," Morrow said, "he stands a fair chance, which is more than most would have given the wound."

Grant shook his head, but didn't trust his voice to respond. He just held tightly to the hand in his, willing his own strength into a man he thought of as a second son.


	23. Chapter 23

Jim rode his horse as fast as he could toward the Lakota, not sure what he might find there…

* * *

Iron Fist stood to greet West as he heard the pounding of the horse approaching. "Greetings, Mr. West."

"Iron Fist," Jim called as he jumped off his horse.

"Why are you here?"

"I need your help."

"In solving a mystery?"

If Jim was surprised, he didn't show it. "Yes."

West looked around and didn't see the shaman. "Where is Cantetekiya?"

Iron Fist looked around at his tribe and frowned. "I do not know. He cannot be far."

"May I speak, Iron Fist?"

"Of things I do not want to hear, Mr. West?"

"Yes."

Iron Fist guided West into a nearby teepee. "Sit. Speak."

Jim sat down across from the chief.

"One of the whites from the hotel, a man named O'Connell… have you ever seen him talking with Cantetekiya?"

Iron Fist frowned. "Not that I remember, no." He stared at West for a moment. "What has happened? You are unsettled."

West looked away. "O'Connell and men unknown helping him killed General Taylor tonight and seriously wounded my partner."

"Why do you think that Cantetekiya has something to do with this?"

West frowned. "It's hard to explain, Iron Fist…"

The Lakota Sioux nodded. "Not hard to explain. It is the spirit totems speaking to you… what you whites call intuition."

This time West did look surprised. "Yes, Iron Fist. You know much of the white man's culture."

"As do you of ours."

"Know your enemy?" West asked.

"Perhaps in times gone by, Mr. West. Hopefully not now." He stood and West followed. "I will take you to where Cantetekiya often goes. If he is involved, I will deal with him."

"As you say, Iron Fist."

* * *

As the two men approached the clearing not far from the Lakota settlement, they got off their horses and listened to the voices from just behind the trees.

"You were supposed to kill Grant, not Taylor!"

"I didn't have a choice."

West recognized the second voice as O'Connell's.

"That's not good enough, O'Connell. Now West is after you and it won't take him that long to get to me. It's only a matter of time."

"I can kill West," Cantetekiya offered. "Anything to keep this assault on Siox heritage from going forth."

Iron Fist closed his eyes. "I was hoping he was not involved."

West moved closer to get a look at the owner of the voice he couldn't identify.

"Ultimately it is Grant we need to eliminate, Cantetekiya. He is the main force behind the peace talks. With him out of the way, we will never have to think about it again."

"That white man is your problem. You take care of him. I will take care of West."

Jim moved out of the trees and stood amidst the men. "I'm right here, Cantetekiya, take your best shot."

Iron Fist suddenly appeared. "No. There will be no more of this foolishness."

West, momentarily distracted by Iron Fist, was jumped by Cantetekiya. The men wrestled for several minutes, each gaining and losing the upper hand. Cantetekiya pulled a knife and tried to slice West's throat with it. Harney, the voice West had not recognized, pulled a gun and tried to aim at the two fighting men, but he couldn't get a clear shot. Iron Fist lunged at him, knocking the gun away. O'Connell jumped on top of Iron Fist in an attempt to pull him off of Harney. As West and Cantetekiya struggled, West moved on top of the shaman, the two of them in a death grip fight with the knife. Cantetekiya finally made a fatal error in movement and the knife plunged into his abdomen. West moved off of him and saw the shaman's eyes lose their focus as death came to take him.

West turned and grabbed O'Connell, easily throwing him off of Iron Fist, who had Harney in a choke hold around the neck. A moment later, Harney no longer drew breath, Iron Fist having crushed his wind pipe. Iron Fist stood and brushed himself off.

"What are you going to do with him?" Iron Fist asked, indicating O'Connell.

"Turn him over to the army."

"You could leave him with me. He almost destroyed peace between us."

"He will never see the light of day again, Iron Fist. I promise you."

Iron Fist nodded. "Until we meet again, then, my friend."

"Yes, Iron Fist, until then."

West grabbed O'Connell and the two of them rode back to Mohonk, West pushing the speed all the way.

* * *

After handing O'Connell off to Gelbhardt, West took the steps three at a time to get up to Arte's room. He pulled his hat off and knocked softly before entering. Morrow stood when West entered and moved over to speak to him.

"How's Arte?"

"It's been touch and go, Mr. West, but I think he is going to make it. Mr. Gordon's tough."

"Yes, he is," West smiled for the first time in awhile. "And the President?"

Morrow nodded. "Asleep in the chair, sir, but doing just fine."

"Glad to hear it."

West moved further into the room, and pat the president on the shoulder, smiling; the man did not stir. "At least I know where you are," West whispered to him. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and took Arte's hand in his own. "Arte? Hey buddy?"

Arte's eyes opened and he smiled. "Hiya Jim."

"Hi buddy. Heard you're gonna be okay."

"Is that so?"

"That's what the doc said, yes."

Arte smiled. "Yeah, I'll be fine." Arte spotted a cut on Jim's neck. "Hey buddy, what happened?"

"That? Oh, nothing. Cut myself shaving…"

"You squared it all?"

"You bet, Arte. Everything is squared off and ready to roll."

"Who was it Jim?"

"Harney, O'Connell and Cantetekiya."

"The shaman?"

"Yep. Seems he didn't want peace between the Lakota Sioux and the USG."

"What a shame."

Artemus shivered, and Jim pulled his covers up to his neck. "Hey, you need rest, so close your eyes and get it, or we'll never get to go home."

"Jim…thanks."

"For what?"

"For being a good friend."

West nodded toward the snoozing president. "Don't forget to thank this guy as well. He had your back, Artemus. More than you could know."

"No Jim, I know it. I know it about both of you. That's why I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

West held Arte's hand until he dropped off to sleep, then he moved to another chair and within minutes was asleep himself.

###


End file.
